


Give A Little Sing To The Singles

by LadyLondonderry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Advent Fic, Alternate Universe - Office, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Crack, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Office, Office Party, Pining, i'm trying to pad these tags guys i dunno its a christmas fic and the plot is pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 31,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21623464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLondonderry/pseuds/LadyLondonderry
Summary: Harry Styles is an adult now, with a real adult job (and benefits! Whatever those are!). He spends his days at the copier. Copying things.That being said, no one told Harry that being an adult came with a confusingly chaotic boss, a copier machine that would be hell-bent on ruining his life, and a coworker so good looking that Harry might just have to quit. After all, Christmas is coming and if their office doesn’t win the decorating contest, Louis has threatened to break several laws and kneecaps in retaliation.Happy Christmas, here’s to many more.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Mitch Rowland/Disney World, Niall Horan/His Bed, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne
Comments: 278
Kudos: 527





	1. December 1st

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO AND WELCOME TO DECEMBER. ADVENT MONTH. CHRISTMAS TME.
> 
> I started a new job this year. It is a job that seems like it should be very boring. I use the copier a lot and then enter data into a spreadsheet for hours on end. It turns out that when your coworkers seem to have escaped from an episode of Parks and Rec, boring jobs become much more interesting. This story may or may not be based somewhat on true events. Possibly. A little.
> 
> So! Here we go! 25 chapters, 25 days! Here's hoping this ride turns out well! Here's hoping my building doesn't burn down before Christmas break!
> 
> The title for this fic, as it does every year, comes from the best Christmas song of all time [The Perfect Christmas Single by Scott Mills and his Pigs and Blankets.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aIFdJsLRkRM) Listen to it immediately.

Harry Styles is now, officially and without dispute, an adult. 

This change happened almost exactly a month ago, when landed his first ever full time, eight-to-four-thirty-with-an-hour-lunch-break job. He has to deal with rush hour now on a daily basis, and he has something called “benefits”. As far as he can tell, benefits means he can take a day off sometimes and still get paid. Overall, he’s pretty unclear. Hopefully at some point someone will take pity on him and explain them. 

The thing about being an Official Real Adult that everyone neglected to tell him, though, is that he is now  _ tired all the time, _ and on his few precious weekend days if someone tries to wake him up before noon, Harry thinks he has every right to bite their face off. 

“Harry,” someone says. Harry’s eyes stay closed. He does not move. He plays dead. “Harry, guess what day it is.”

For all intents and purposes, Harry is a cadaver. 

“I can see you breathing, Harry, I know you’re not dead.”

A breathing cadaver.

“Leave me alone,” Harry moans, burying himself deeper beneath his blankets in defence. “It’s  _ Sunday,  _ Niall! Sleep day!”

“Saturday is sleep day,” Niall says, and Harry feels the bed violently dip beside him as Niall climbs on.  _ “Sunday _ is the first day of the best month of the year, and if there isn’t a Christmas tree up in our living room in the next hour I may just have to move out.”

“Please move out,” Harry grumbles. “Then maybe I can sleep in peace.”

“No, shant!” Niall says, imitating Emily from  _ The Devil Wears Prada. _ Well, that one is Harry’s fault for watching it just the night before. “Come on, up! You can nap under the Christmas tree this afternoon, bathed in the warm glow of twinkling lights!”

Harry starts to say something snippy, but that turns into a squeak as Niall grasps him round the ankle and  _ tugs—  _ sending Harry sliding onto the floor in an undignified mess of blankets. 

“You have twelve minutes,” Niall says. “If you’re not downstairs in twelve minutes I’m bringing the hose.”

He leaves the room. Harry watches him go. They don’t have a hose. 

— 

“It’s perfect,” Niall says.

“You massacred it,” Harry corrects.

The tree sits in the corner of their living room, smushed up against the couch. Harry has to admit that, logically, it was about the only place that made sense to put it. But in a court of law he would also point out that Harry had specifically pointed out that this tree was going to be much too large for their living room, and Niall had said “nonsense” and immediately purchased it.

So, sure, it has some branches that have been… removed… to save space.

And sure, now if anyone were to sit on that end of the couch, they would have a face full of pine needles, because the tree extends about a foot over the side of the couch.

“I just fit the puzzle pieces together, that’s all,” Niall says. His arms are full of tree branches. “I’m just going to relocate these to another area in need of festiveness.”

He makes his way toward the kitchen, no doubt ensuring that the  _ whole _ house will be a fire hazard by the time Christmas is over, and Harry is left staring at the tree. 

The thing is, is Harry does really like the tree. He loves Christmas and everything that comes with it. It’s just that this year, with having a full time job that feels like it’s already draining his life force and taking up all of his free time, it feels like Christmas has been squished (like this tree) in between other things, when it  _ really _ deserves the place of honour. How do real adults do it? 

Plus, that’s  _ his _ corner of the couch that the tree is encroaching on. And he’ll be damned if he doesn’t still sit in it, but he thinks he might have to learn to live with pine needles down his shirt. 

Niall reappears, branches gone from his arms. “The kitchen is beginning to look appropriately festive,” he says. “But we may only be able to use one side of the sink from now on.”

Harry snorts and puts a hand to his face. He’s so tired. The tree is bare. “I’m interrupting whatever terrible plan you had next to say that we need coffee.”

Niall’s face lights up.  _ “That’s  _ the Harry I know and love! I’ll grab my wallet.”

— 

The flat that Harry and Niall share is a tiny little two bedroom (with a balcony just large enough for a green yoga mat that Niall put there and said was city grass) just on the edge of the city centre. There is no lift even though the website had advertised one when Harry had been shopping. Still, down four flights of stairs and just two blocks away is a Starbucks, so all in all Harry thinks they lucked out. 

Two toffee nut iced coffees and numerous toffee nut iced coffee jokes later, Harry  _ is _ feeling slightly more in the spirit. Maybe they should get some tinsel to decorate the balcony railing. 

“And I said to her, I said, this is the year I learn to love  _ me,” _ Niall is saying. “So I’m dating myself this winter. Like that one girl on Parks and Rec.”

“Didn’t she get pregnant like an episode later?” Harry asks, chewing on his straw. 

“I’d be okay with that too,” Niall shrugs. “But after the year I’ve had—”

“Oh shit,” says Harry, seeing two people walk through the door. He slides under the table, drink in hand. 

“Harry?” Niall leans down to find him. “Is it an under-the-table sort of coffee time?”

_ “Shhh,” _ Harry whispers, flapping his hand at Niall. “My coworkers are here!”

Niall frowns, looking around. “Which ones? Your crazy boss? Or that cute one you won’t stop talking about?”

“The two guys from Intake who keep bitching about each other!” Harry says through his teeth. Liam and Zayn work in the building next to him and at least one of them come through the office every day either dropping off files or picking up the same files the other dropped off. Harry had assumed they hated each other by the way they spoke, but they’re clearly here together. 

“We have to  _ flee,” _ Harry says, furiously sipping the last of his coffee.

“Whatever you say,” Niall says, standing. “I’ll just be inconspicuously standing here while you hide under the table.”

If Harry was anyone else he might just say hi and wave, but he’s  _ not _ anyone else, he’s  _ Harry Styles _ and he’s  _ awkward _ and doesn’t know how to interact with coworkers  _ at  _ work, much less in the wild. So, grabbing Niall by the hand, he makes a run for the exit. 

“Oh- Harry?” He hears Liam say, faintly.

“Hello!” Niall calls to him as Harry drags him through the door. “He’s not as weird as he seems, I promise!”


	2. December 2nd

The records room is a small office just large enough for three desks and four filing cabinets stuffed to overflowing with forgotten records. It’s in the center of the building, with no windows to let in any sort of word of the world outside. There’s two doors in the records room - one that leads to a hallway, and one that leads to the supply closet for the whole first floor. 

One thing Harry has learned about working in the records room, is that being “on time” is relative. 

Today he gets to the building at 8:03, and finds the door to the records room locked. For his first week of employment this had been an issue, because he’d not been given a key, and had had to wait outside the door until one of his two coworkers arrived… Somewhere between twenty and forty minutes later. 

It’s comforting to know that even on days when he’s running behind, he’s in no danger of being the last one to arrive at the office. 

Harry sits in relative silence for almost forty minutes, catching up on the company-wide emails that should have just been sent to a specific person, and slowly working up the courage to go deal with the copier, before someone else shows up. 

Louis Tomlinson, the most wonderful man Harry’s ever met, comes rushing through the door at 8:45. 

He’s got soft looking brown hair and a scruffy beard and the most beautiful bluey-greeny-blue eyes. When Harry went in for his interview initially he definitely missed some important talking points because he was distracted by those eyes. His voice is crackly like fall leaves and high like golden maple syrup. 

“Is Mitch not here yet?” he asks, dumping bags onto his desk. Louis’ flat doesn’t have recycling apparently, so he brings all number of odd shaped bottles and boxes in to recycle at work. Harry finds it incredibly endearing. 

“Apparently not,” Harry says. Mitch generally arrives closer to 8:20, looking dead inside and like he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. He’s very quiet and mysterious.

“Huh,” Louis says. “I hope he’s not dead.”

“I assume we’d hear about it if he was,” Harry points out. 

“Maybe,” says Louis, loading up his arms with recyclables. “I mean. I’m pretty sure he lives alone with his cat, so we might not.” He leaves the room, probably to head to the large box used as a recycling bin in the break room. Harry is left to think very morbid thoughts at much too early in the morning.

— 

Harry has no idea how to interact with Louis in a way that says  _ I want to listen to you say things for the rest of my life, _ but at the same time seems aloof and unbothered. He comes out somewhere in the middle, rambling for a bit and then shutting up for fear of saying too much. It’s a walk on a tightrope that he’s constantly falling off of, but at least Louis doesn’t seem to notice or mind.

It’s a little after nine when Nick Grimshaw, official boss of the records room, throws open the door and strides in. Nick’s office is directly next to theirs, and Harry suspects it was originally a broom closet. He’s only been inside twice but it’s quite cramped. He also suspects that Nick gets lonely in there. 

“Where’s Mitch?” is the first thing Nick asks, throwing himself into the chair next to Louis’ desk that is definitely there specifically for him to sit in.

“No idea,” says Louis. “Assume he’s dead.”

“That’s  _ rude,” _ Nick scolds, pushing a binder clip off of Louis’ desk. “What’s the first rule of the records room?”

“Don’t get drunk and then kiss your coworkers.”

_ “Incorrect!” _ Nick pushes another binder clip off of his desk and Louis scowls at him. “That’s rule number two! Try again!”

“Be nice to your records room siblings,” Louis parrots out, rolling his eyes.

“That’s  _ right,” _ Nick says. “No assuming anyone is dead until at least ten o’ clock. Oh, also, see if he’s put his absence on the calendar.”

“Isn’t this your job?” Louis asks, but Harry’s already looking him up in their shared google calendar. When Nick and Louis get going he can’t think nearly fast enough to get a quip in edgewise, and he fears looking a fool in front of either of them, lest Nick decide they made a mistake in hiring him. 

“Calendar says dentist appointment,” he pipes up. 

“Oh shit,” Nick says. “Do  _ I  _ have a dentist appointment today?”

_ “Do _ you?” asks Louis, incredulous. “Why would you have one at the same time as Mitch?”

“Check the calendar,” Nick says, flapping his hand toward Harry.

“Why would it be—” Louis starts to say, coming over to look over Harry’s shoulder (rather than just look at it on his own screen). “Oh. Yep. There it is. Nine o clock.”

“Shit,” says Nick. “I’m late.” He stands and dashes from the room, as quick as he came.

“Your desk is cute,” Louis remarks as he walks back to his own desk. 

Harry’s ears grow warm. His desk is already filled with fake potted plants, a pink cup holder and fancy jars of tea. He’s dreamed since he was a kid of having a work desk to decorate. “Thanks,” he says bashfully, incredibly embarrassed and pleased at the same time. 

“I need to start hiding my binder clips,” Louis mumbles, leaning down to grab the other ones Nick knocked off. “Fucker’s like a cat.”

— 

Mitch arrives at work at eleven. He doesn’t say anything, just sits down at his desk and sighs a deep, put-upon sigh. 

“We thought you were dead,” Louis tells him. “Harry here especially. Terribly worried about you.”

Mitch stares glumly at Harry, who tries to make a  _ who, me? _ motion. “The dentist didn’t even have bubblegum flavour,” he says mournfully.


	3. December 3rd

Back in October, when Harry was interviewing for the position of  _ records specialist, _ he had spent all morning that poring over his old university textbooks, hoping desperately that he wouldn’t be asked any in depth questions about metadata and end up looking like a deer caught in the headlights. He had then arrived almost an hour early and sat in his car drinking coffee, and then worrying that he would have coffee breath, and then searching through his car for mints, and then worrying that he had covered himself in a layer of dirt from shuffling around in his car. 

Then he still had half an hour to waste until the interview started.

In the interview itself, he sat in the designated room for almost ten minutes before anyone else arrived. The first person to walk in, looking like he was in no hurry, introduced himself as Nick Grimshaw, head of the record’s department. He sat down and leaned back in his chair and then quickly had to right himself, as it started to tip. Then a moment later another person came hurrying in, looking flustered as he sat down in the seat next to Nick and across from Harry. 

Nick was tall with hair that definitely had quite a bit of product in it and what looked like a permanent five o clock shadow. This second person seemed in direct contrast - soft, feathery fringe and at least half a head shorter next to Nick, sitting down, he apologised profusely for being late, saying that he had gotten distracted.

“I literally left the office and told you I was going to the interview,” Nick said to him. “You were  _ right there.” _

“I was reading the wikipedia page on asian pears,” he explained, as if this is a perfectly acceptable thing to have been late because of. Harry thought his voice sounds like music. Then he turned to  _ face  _ Harry and Harry felt like he’d been struck dumb. “Hi, I’m Louis,” he said, holding out a hand that Harry’s short circuited brain took a beat too long to shake. “I assume Nick hasn’t started without me.”

“I would have, but you have the sheet,” Nick said, looking at Louis expectantly.

“Aw hell.” Louis stood up. “I’ll be right back.”

While Louis was gone Nick had rolled his eyes and begun explaining the position (which Harry already had memorised because he was  _ nothing _ if not overprepared). 

The interview had gone, well, not  _ amazingly, _ but surprisingly smoothly considering Harry felt weak in the knees as soon a Louis reappeared. He hadn’t been entirely confident upon leaving, but even if he didn’t get the job he had felt like he’d have a story to tell. “Got interviewed by the most beautiful man on the planet,” he had told Niall later that night. 

“Good benefits?” Niall had asked.

“No idea, but they told me it’s eight to four thirty and they’ll never contact me outside those hours unless Jeopardy is on and someone is making a fool of themself.”

“Sounds like a good sign,” Niall had said. 

When Nick called to offer him the job a week later, all Harry could think about were those blue eyes and the breathy, stuttery laugh that Louis had had. He had accepted on the spot. 

— 

_ The Flash Mob is meeting at 10 a.m. today on the second floor to decorate the tree outside of Lee’s office _

Harry reads the email a second time, feeling like he’s missing something. Isn’t a flash mob supposed to be a surprise? Doesn’t announcing it just make it a regular mob?

The line comes at the end of an email about the rules of the holiday decorating contest, which Louis has been talking about all morning. Harry has sat and listened to Louis talk about it all morning. It’s been nice.

“We need to win this year,” Louis says for what is probably the dozenth time. “We  _ should _ have won last year!”

“Cheaters,” Mitch says, not looking up from his phone that he is blatantly scrolling at his desk.

“Right?  _ Cheaters! _ The lot of them!” He points above the filing cabinet. “You see that tree up there, Harry?”

Harry nods. He  _ does _ see that tree. There’s been a small, probably two foot Christmas tree atop the filing cabinet since he was hired. 

“That was our prize last year. See the plaque on it?  _ #2 trio, _ it says. Because Patty on the second floor and her trio  _ blatantly cheated!  _ They had plug-in lights! That’s against the rules!”

Just then, in one fluid move Nick bursts through the door and immediately collapses in the chair next to Louis’ desk. “They’re all cheaters,” he agrees, before flinging one arm over his eyes as if he’s come over faint. 

“Hi Nick,” says Louis.

“Hi,” Nick says, sounding grumpy. “I’m going to murder Bebe.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s pregnant and has spent all morning yelling at me.”

“It’s only nine,” Louis points out.

“It’s been a long hour.”

_ “Anyway,” _ Louis says. “More importantly than your beautiful, glowing pregnant coworker-”

“Who is going to kill me if I don’t kill her first.”

“We  _ need _ a better theme this year. I will  _ not _ be destroyed by the third floor again.”

“Can I ask-” Harry hazards. “That says trio, but there’s four of us?”

“Oh, I’m just not here,” Nick says. “I’m just emotional support. Officially.”

“And he’s our sugar daddy who funds our endeavors,” Louis adds. “But if it’s more than three then we get put into the  _ group _ category, which the supervisors  _ always _ win because they’re the ones who give out the awards.”

“Bunch of cowards,” Nick says.

“So last year we did a war time Christmas,” Louis continues. “Which was  _ excellent  _ of course.”

Mitch looks up from his phone and makes eye contact with Harry. “It was just our regular decorations with an old newspaper taped to the wall,” he says, voice flat.

“This year I was thinking maybe we go more…  _ Charlie Brown Christmas,” _ Louis says. “Or possibly wartime part two and we put up a portrait of Churchill in a Santa hat.”

His thoughts are interrupted by a man with a dolley full of file boxes coming through the door. “Knock knock!” he says.

“Hi Liam,” Louis greets. 

“Hey Louis.” Liam stops the dolley and the boxes wobble precariously. They are stacked higher than he is. “Harry! Didn’t I see you at Starbucks this weekend?”

“Nope,” says Harry, because he tries to think fast and somehow his brain goes right by  _ tell the truth _ to  _ blatant lie. _ “I don’t go to Starbucks.”

This morning Louis had asked if Harry’s reusable cup was full of homemade coffee or coffee from Starbucks. He  _ knows _ Harry went to Starbucks. Harry looks over to see Louis smiling  _ gleefully _ at him.

“Liam how ridiculous. You can’t even recognize your own coworker?” Louis asks.

“I mean-” Liam stutters as he unloads his stack of boxes with well toned, muscley arms. 

“It’s okay Liam,” Nick says. “One time I thought I saw Mitch at Lush but it was actually a woman with a hangover.”

“Very similar,” Mitch mumbles. “I’d have mistaken me too.”


	4. December 4th

Harry has been at work for only fifteen minutes when Niall texts him. 

He has been at work for only fifteen minutes and his head is  _ pounding _ and honestly his whole body is aching a bit, because he hasn’t gotten nearly enough sleep in the last few days and eventually even multiple cups of coffee a day isn’t enough to save him.

So he’s been at work for only fifteen minutes and the paracetamol has so far done nothing for him, and Niall’s text about sends him to tears.

**Niall:** _Can u come home_ _  
_ **Niall:** _I locked myself out :(_

Harry looks at his phone, almost uncomprehending. He has just started copying plans. Of the stack of thirty he brought into the copier room, he’s done six of them. 

**Harry:** _ Really?????????? _

**Niall:** _ yes and it’s cold :(( please come get meeee _

The copier screen lights up with an error message and Harry stares at it as if it too has betrayed him. Everyone is betraying him today. His head hurts. 

The thing is is Harry has not, so far in his career of a little over a month, ever taken sick time. He thinks that’s what he’s supposed to do here but he’s really not sure. Maybe that’s what the  _ benefits _ are that he’s heard about. Everything is a mystery and he is tired. 

He stacks his plans back into a pile, pulling the shredded paper out of the inside of the copier that was causing the error message carries it all back across the hallway to his desk. Mitch is here, but Louis isn’t yet. Nick probably is.

He just has to work up the courage to go to Nick’s office and ask him for… sick time? Is that how this works? Surely he can’t just leave, so it must be.

He takes the long way around to Nick’s office (a difficult feat considering it’s right next to the records room). Nick’s door is cracked open so he sort of sidles in while raising his hand as if to knock. 

“What’s up?” Nick asks, pausing whatever video he was playing on his phone and sliding his headphones off.

“I… need to be sick for an hour,” Harry says and then mentally slaps himself.

“Do you mean you need to use sick time?” Nick asks, giving him a concerned look. 

Harry nods vigorously.

“Cool,” Nick says, sliding his headphones back on. “Don’t vomit in the office.”

Harry nods again, turns to leave and immediately runs into the door, knocking off the mailbox that’s hanging onto it with command hooks and sending it clattering to the floor.

_ “Sorry!” _ Harry squeaks.

“Or maybe I’m canceling your sick time,” Nick remarks, pursing his lips.

“No, I got it!” Harry says, gathering the mailbox and papers up. “It’s fine! It never happened!” He hangs it back up and holds his breath, but it stays in place. 

“Sick time uncanceled,” Nick says.

Harry makes a run for it before he has the chance to knock something else over.

— 

Niall has been at Starbucks since he locked himself out. 

“Hey Haz!” he says when Harry pulls up. “Want a hot chocolate? I don’t have my wallet with me but I had the app on my phone! Lucky, huh?”

“Yeah,” mutters Harry. “Very lucky. Did I really need to come home? Do you even work today?”

“Nope,” says Niall. “But what was I going to do for seven hours? I’d be so bored!”

Harry sighs. He should have just asked Nick if he could have the whole day off. He never  _ would _ have, too terrified to look irresponsible, but being so close in proximity to his bed is making him yearn for it.

He parks and they walk up to the front door so that Harry can open the door for Niall. 

“I owe you one!” Niall tells him. 

“You fucking do,” Harry agrees. He doesn’t dare even stop in. His bed is. So close. “Right, I’m going back to work.”

“So responsible,” tuts Niall, shaking his head. “Where have I gone wrong with you?”

“Letting me get a full time job that destroys my sense of self,” Harry sighs. 

— 

By the time Harry gets back to the office, Louis’ arrived and is sipping coffee from his signature fox mug. He waves at Harry. “You’re not dead!” 

“I’m not dead,” Harry agrees. “Just had to go rescue my roommate.”

“Ah,” says Louis. “Nick said you had one hour vomiting sickness.”

“That too,” Harry says. He sits down and goes back to his stack of plans that he had barely started copying. His head still hurts. He doesn’t want to have to go stand at the copier for the next hour fighting with it, so he takes the six that were successfully copied and brings them up on his screen, indexing and archiving them. 

The plans that Harry copies are supposed to have no paperclips, no staples, no sticky notes. 

The people who create these packets are what Mitch likes to call “incompetent nutters”.

On the wall behind him, Harry’s started a collection of sticky notes that he’s pulled out of the copier when the pages jam. He cuts them up to protect privacy information which makes them unique and wonky and wonderful. He takes a moment to flip through the six on his desk, and adds two to the collage;  _ Please add blood _ and  _ dissenting opinion.  _ That’s satisfying at least. 

Just as he’s about to give up and head back to the copier room, comes into the office behind a dolly loaded with boxes. 

“Hey Zayn!” Louis greets. 

Zayn waves at him. Harry sees Zayn a lot less than Liam, and he doesn’t talk as much. If Harry had to guess, he’d say Zayn has even worse of a case of the anxities than he does. 

“Did Liam drop off a bunch of boxes yesterday?” Zayn asks.

“Yep,” Louis points to the stack in front of his desk. Zayn sighs and begins unloading the boxes on his dolly next to those ones. Then, he loads the stack that Liam left onto his dolly, and leaves again. 

As soon as he’s left, Louis snickers. Even Mitch smiles. 

“Why did he take those?” Harry asks, confused. 

“First rule of records room,” Louis says. “Never question anything Liam or Zayn do. I think it might be a sex thing.”

“It’s definitely a sex thing,” says Mitch. 


	5. December 5th

It’s almost eight thirty when Nick walks into the office. Harry has been here since eight. Mitch has been here since ten past eight. Louis is not here.

There’s a tall stack of boxes piled up in front of the supply closet door, having apparently arrived at some point after Harry had left yesterday, and Nick strides over, tearing open the top one.

“Oh hey,” he says, digging into it. “Did you guys see we got new tissues? Grab yourself a box of them before they all disappear. They’re the good stuff this time, the higher-ups must not know we’re ordering brand name. Remember when they used to send us that like, half-ply shit?”

“Our noses ran with blood,” Mitch agrees ominously.

Nick tosses a box to Mitch, who catches it, tosses a box to Harry, who ducks, and tosses a box to Louis’ desk, where it knocks off a number of office supplies.

“I see Louis hasn’t decided to grace us with his presence yet,” Nick notes. He strides over and Harry watches as he takes a seat in Louis’ chair and starts messing with the trinkets on his desk. “I’m going to teach him a lesson and be here when he comes in.”

“You’ll be sitting there a long time,” Harry says, knowing full well that lately Louis has been getting here closer to nine than eight. He feels himself blush a little bit as he says it, because he  _ always _ feels a little embarrassed when talking about Louis. Which is ridiculous. He probably has a blood condition or something, what with how warm his face gets when he talks to Niall about how he could listen to Louis talk about the dumb stuff he does all day. Too-much-face-blood syndrome, maybe.

“I’ve got time,” Nick says.

“A  _ long _ time,” Mitch emphasises. 

Nick huffs. “I’ve got nothing to do. It’s not like I’ve got a department to run! You guys are my department. I’m running you.”

Still, as Harry goes through and marks the date on every plan in his stack he can  _ feel _ how restless Nick becomes. He starts stacking all the fox knicknacks on Louis’ desk and then unstacks them and lines them up neatly along the clunky old desktop scanner. It is, in fact, only ten minutes until he gives up and leaves, not saying a word.

Twenty minutes later, Louis strolls in. 

Neither Harry nor Mitch mention anything about Nick. 

— 

After standing at the copier for an hour and only having to un-jam it three times (not bad, really), when Harry strolls back in with his stack of plans, Louis is on the phone.

For the most part Louis is only ever on the phone with Nick, at times when Nick doesn’t feel the need to leave his office. The phones that they have installed are fairly useless overall; they don’t record who called, or even  _ if _ someone called unless they leave a message. Also, Harry was locked out of his own for two weeks because when he followed the instructions on how to set up his voicemail it somehow decided that he was a hacker and killed the line entirely. 

The good news is, records specialists rarely have to use the phone. 

Having walked into the room as Louis and  _ hopefully _ Nick are already in the middle of a conversation is… particularly confusing. 

“They turn into walls as a sacrifice to appease the building gods,” Louis is saying. He twiddles his fingers at Harry in greeting and then rolls his eyes at the phone. “Because they’re chummy!” a beat. “Not like a real sailor! Like a fake sailor! ...A colloquialism! I’ve been on boats! I’ve been on so many boats … No you don’t! I don’t know what you’re doing. ...On the river? Well that sounds charming … Nick.” (ah, this is definitely Nick then) “Sounds like rickets … Well you never do! … That’s too bad for him and his family … Cute. Are you in front of the body? … Nope- hey!” He puts the phone back in its cradle and pouts. “He hung up on me.”

Harry, wondering if he’s just listened to a murder take place, pulls what he hopes is a sympathetic face.

Mitch has been steadfastly ignoring all of this. Probably he’s just too used to these phone calls at this point. 

“Oh,” Louis points at Harry. “Nick told me that if I keep coming in to work late, it’ll create a sort of  _ aura of wrongdoing _ around me, and that it’ll start wearing off onto you. He said you’re young and impressionable and will probably just start doing lines of coke off the desk.”

“Feels unlikely,” says Harry. He removes a sticky note from one of the plans and sticks it on the wall behind him. It reads  _ I hate computes! _

“That’s what  _ I  _ said!” Louis agrees. “Anyway if someone was going to start being a miscreant and ruffian it would definitely be Mitch. He seems like the type.”

Mitch, unsmiling, fixes Louis with a stare. “I need this job to afford a trip to Disney,” he says flatly. “I would never.”

Harry blinks. He didn’t know Mitch cared about  _ anything _ . 

— 

The Halloween decorations are still on the walls. 

“We need to decorate for Christmas,” Louis says for the fourth day in a row.

Harry is beginning to wonder if they’re just going to put the Christmas decorations  _ over _ the Halloween decorations. Like when Louis added paper cutouts of firecrackers to the background of the  _ Mona Lisa _ that decorates their door.  _ She’s a Halloween decoration because she has snake eyes, _ Louis once explained,  _ and because she’s just generally creepy. _

“Do we even have Christmas decorations?” Harry asks. 

“Oh god yes,” Louis says, standing from his desk. “They’re all in the Dead Cabinet.”

“The  _ what?” _

Louis walks over to the cabinet directly next to Harry’s desk. On top of it are tall stacks of papers that Louis sometimes shuffles through, and on top of  _ those _ is a white board that Nick apparently stole out of a bin at some point. Currently all that’s on the white board is a drawing of a coconut with the words “reflect on this” written below it.

“The dead cabinet,” Louis says, “Is this cabinet right here. It’s full of all the plans for people who passed away. No one ever told us what we’re supposed to do with them so we just stick them in here.”

“That’s…” Harry hedges. “Uh.”

“The failings of local government,” Louis supplies.

“Yeah, that.”

“But in the  _ other side _ ,” Louis pulls open a drawer. “Are Christmas decorations!”

The drawer seems to be stuffed to  _ overflowing _ with tinsel and some sort of red and white fabric. It sticks a little and Louis tugs to get it opened all the way, and when he manages it, an ornament pops out and hits the floor, breaking into pieces.

“Oh- oh  _ shit,”  _ Louis says, panicked.

Mitch looks up from his phone. “Is that the leg lamp?” he asks.

Harry gets up to get a better look. It does seem to be the leg lamp from  _ A Christmas Story. _

“You’re fucked,” says Mitch.

“Shit,” says Louis, dropping to his knees and gathering it up. “Shit shit  _ shit _ he’s going to  _ kill me.” _

“Who?” asks Harry, concerned. 

“Nick!” Louis cradles the lamp to his chest. “Bebe got him this for Christmas two years ago and he’s  _ obsessed  _ with it. If he finds out I broke it there will be murder.” He looks at Harry. “We’re hiding it in your desk,” he says.

_ “My _ desk?” squeaks Harry. “You want him to kill  _ me?” _

He’s hurt. He thought at least he and Louis were becoming friends. 

“He goes through and messes with my shit all the time,” Louis says. “You’re new. He’s still sort of nice to you.” He comes around the side of Harry’s desk and crowds into his space. He smells like something warm and woodsy and Harry grows weak. Pulling open the drawers to Harry’s desk, Louis shove the broken pieces into the back of one and slams it shut. 

“If you value your life you will never open that drawer again,” Louis says, turning to him. 

Louis’ lips look very soft. 

Harry nods dutifully. He does value his life. 

They do not manage to put up Christmas decorations that day. 


	6. December 6th

It is four in the afternoon and Nick has been talking about beer for nearly thirty minutes. 

“And I was thinking Hoffbrauhaus but their beer is so  _ skunky, _ they  _ say _ they make it in house but if they did it wouldn’t be so skunky like that. Last year when we went there for Records Room Christmas and I got that huge stein of it, it was so gross. Any pub in town is going to try to tell you that they brew their own beer but that doesn’t make it true-”

He’s been talking for so long that Harry’s managed to tune out a fair amount of what he’s been saying. If he crouches in just the right way behind his computer monitor, Nick won’t even notice that he’s got one headphone in and has been playing a podcast for the better part of the hour. 

Nick’s unofficial chair is right next to Louis’ desk so he isn’t as lucky, but it’s clear that he’s taking in just as much as Harry is. Mitch, of course, isn’t even pretending to pay attention.

“So anyway, the point is I vote we go with Hoffbrauhaus for Records Room Christmas, but I don’t know who’s going to drive. I assume we’ll have to call an Uber, although-” he looks over at Harry. “Actually, you’re not old enough to drink, are you?”

Harry frowns, mystified. “You think I’m only seventeen?” he asks. Louis looks up at him and pulls a face, trying not to laugh. 

“Well I don’t know!” Nick says. “They make them so young these days!”

“I needed a university degree to even apply!” Harry argues weakly. “You’re exactly a decade older than me!”

“A decade’s a long time,” Nick says wistfully. “So much can happen. So many boyfriends and none of them stuck.”

“Maybe one of them would stick if you invited him to Records Room Christmas,” Louis says, looking over at Nick slyly. “Your records room children need to approve of our future father.”

Mitch makes a choking noise. 

“My records room children need to  _ be responsible,” _ Nick says, changing the subject, “and  _ return their trophy from last Christmas!” _ He points accusingly above the filing cabinet. “That was supposed to be returned to the judging committee last week!”

“I refuse!” Louis shouts back. “It’s  _ our _ tree and anyway first place cheated!”

“Yeah, but you won’t get first place this year if you’re not in with the judges! Go give it back to Jeff and sashay a little bit when you pass by. Do a favor get a favor.”

“Jeff’s straight!” Louis argues. “He doesn’t deserve my sashay!”

Suddenly Harry is more interested in this conversation. While Louis’ mentioned several times his sisters’ dating lives, he’s never mentioned his own.

“Everyone can indulge in a little sashay from time to time,” Nick shoots back. “Anyway it’s not like you’ve got a man to go home to who can appreciate it properly.”

“Ex _ cuse _ you,” Louis shrieks, slapping his hand against his keyboard. “I do  _ not _ need a man to have value! I can sashay all on my own, thank you very much!”

Mitch has laid his head down on his desk.

Harry’s face is very hot. 

“I will  _ not _ listen to my records room child talk about sashaying by himself! This is not work appropriate!” Nick shouts back. “And anyway! It is the  _ sixth _ and there are still pumpkins up all over your walls! How are we supposed to win if you refuse to even get festive, much  _ less _ flirt with the judges as is necessary!”

“Fine!” Louis slams  _ both _ his hands on his keyboard this time. “But you can’t talk about beer anymore! We have to go to Hoffbrauhaus for Records Room Christmas because  _ I want their soft pretzels!” _

“Fine!” Nick shouts, standing with a huff. “But you have to sashay!”

“Never!”

Harry wonders how no one else in the building seems to be hearing this. Their door is wide open. Nick and Louis don’t get loud like this  _ too _ often, but each time they do Harry feels like  _ surely _ the whole floor can hear them. Maybe they appreciate a bit of drama.

Nick stomps out and as soon as Harry hears his own door shut, Louis’ scowl switches to a grin. “Stop whatever you’re doing,” he says. “It’s decorating time.”

— 

Decorating time means Louis pulling out an old boombox from beneath his desk and spending quite a while trying to pick up any sort of station. They’re in a windowless office right in the centre of a large building, so it makes sense. After fiddling with it for a long time and hearing nothing but static, Mitch pulls out of his  _ own _ desk an antenna and wordlessly hands it to Louis, who tapes it onto the top of the one the boombox already has. Weakly, it picks up a station playing Christmas music.  _ Wrap Myself in Paper _ is playing. 

Louis starts taking down the craft paper pumpkins all over the walls and Harry does the same, each one with unnecessary amounts of tape on the back. Mitch continues to sit at his desk but at least he takes down the few on the wall directly next to him. 

It’s almost fifteen minutes to take all the decorations down, and the station they have the radio tuned to only gets weaker whenever anyone goes near it. Still, Harry loves it because as Louis is taking down the decorations above his desk he’s explaining each of them to Harry in detail. 

“This is Dennis the crow,” he says, pointing to a piece of paper with a drawing of a crow that resides on the wall behind him. “He stays up all year round but we made him a Halloween costume, and an elf outfit for Christmas. Nick made him for me as a threat because I’m afraid of birds and he thought it would convince me to come in earlier, but now we’ve bonded and he’s my friend.”

Louis carefully untapes the angel wings and halo that had been added to Dennis for Halloween. 

“And this is the Christmas picture from last year that we took when we found out we’d won second place-” he points to a framed photograph containing a  _ very _ excited Nick and Louis, a Mitch that doesn’t seem too miserable, and a cut-out area that at one point likely included a fourth person. 

“That’s who worked here before you,” Louis says, very seriously. “We don’t talk about her anymore because she told Nick that she was quitting while we were at her birthday lunch that Nick paid for. He’ll never forgive her.” Then he brightens. “We should print out a picture of you and glue you in instead!”

By the time four thirty hits they’ve only just gotten all of the Halloween decorations shoved back in their drawer. The trophy is still not returned, and the Christmas decorations are not yet put up. Four thirty means it’s time to go home, though, and Harry can think of nothing more than the amazing nap he’s about to take when he gets home. 

That, and that Louis made him pose for a picture that he’s going to print out and tape into that frame. There’s a picture of him on Louis’ phone now. He’s not sure why, but that makes him happy. 


	7. December 7th

As a child, Niall Horan had a dream job that made a lot of adults give him questioning looks. _He’ll_ _grow out of it,_ they told one another. _A lot of kids say they want to be odd things when they grow up. Why, my Shelley said she wanted to be a goat herder._

Niall, however, never wavered. Now here he is, an adult with a flat and a housemate and his dream job; aquarium security guard. 

_ Nothing _ makes Niall happier than walking around the aquarium at night, alone and with only the lights of the tanks to help him see, saying hello to the little fishies as he passes. He’s always been shit with actual marine biology, can barely identify any of the fish with their species name, and has given up on trying to keep them alive as pets. But  _ here, _ here is everything he wants in life. The occasional spike of adrenaline when he hears something moving where there should not be something moving is also good for the system from time to time. It usually just ends up being a raccoon that’s broken in. He’s used to it.

The one downside of being a security guard is that he’s opted for the nighttime shift, and while that makes for a lovely eight hours of work, silent and alone as God intended, it means that he misses out on parts of the day that the waking world takes for granted. Some people see him out and about when he gets off work and assume he’s a morning person, instead of the truth; he’s just not gone to bed yet. 

Thankfully Harry sleeps like the dead, because the wall between their rooms is paper thin and Niall loves to listen to a good podcast while he’s waking up and going to sleep. 

Today is Saturday, though, which means Harry’s  _ home! _ Harry, who is still struggling to adjust to the full time job schedule. Harry, whom Niall misses terribly since he isn’t around to ramble at all the time. Harry, who really needs a boyfriend. 

Niall doesn’t need a boyfriend. Niall is happily single right now and living it  _ up.  _ He doesn’t see what the big deal about relationships is, if he’s honest. 

But Harry needs a boyfriend. The boy is a romantic! He’s been dreaming about his wedding for as long as Niall has known him, and every relationship Niall has seen him go through has left Harry a little sadder and a little less hopeful that he has any future at all. Plus, the guys Harry has gone out with have been the ones he’s settled for, not the ones he pines after. They’ve all been dicks, basically. 

But this year is the year. The time is now. Cuffing season is ending and Niall is  _ determined _ to get Harry a boy toy. A someone to cuddle with and exchange presents with and hopefully someone who will be willing to join Niall’s dream D&D campaign, which he has been writing for months. Currently it’s just himself and Harry, but ideally he needs three more people, and Harry’s future beau can be one of them. 

Niall has been waiting for Harry to get up since he got home from the aquarium in the early hours of the morning and now, at a little after noon, finally he hears Harry’s door open. 

He watches as Harry comes stumbling out, clad in his cozy red plaid pyjamas, and collapse onto the couch next to him. 

“Good morning, my sleeping beauty,” Niall greets. 

Harry grumbles something and rubs at his eyes. 

Niall leans over and sticks his hands up the side of Harry’s shirt, earning a shriek and a slap.

“Niall!” Harry whines. “You’re  _ freezing!” _

“That’s because I don’t get enough cuddles,” Niall says, and invades his personal space to make a home for himself under Harry’s arm. Harry doesn’t fight him. 

“I hung up lights on our balcony,” Niall says. “You can’t see them because it’s the middle of the day, but I made them spell a dirty word.”

Harry snorts. “I think we can get fined for that.” He pauses. “What word?”

“You’ll see,” Niall singsongs.

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

Rolling over so that his head lands on Harry’s lap, Niall fixes him with a look. “So,” he says. “Serious Niall time. Tell me about your boy.”

“My boy?” Harry frowns. Niall thinks it’s unfair that Harry looks good from this angle. Niall certainly doesn’t. His cleft chin does him no favours. 

“Your boy,” Niall says. “The one that you go on about for days. The one you work with.”

“I don’t go on about him for days,” Harry argues. “I’m so  _ sorry _ for trying to share my life with you—”

Niall reaches up and lightly slaps his cheek. “It’s too early in the conversation for you to be getting this defensive,” he says. “Try again. What’s your boy done this week?”

Harry rolls his eyes and then purses his lips. “Nick yelled at him for opening too many Wikipedia pages at work again,” he says after a minute. “He was looking up the history of the Tesla. Did you know the guy who says he’s the founder isn’t actually? He just bought the rights to say he is.”

“Boring fact, but continue,” Niall says. 

“Well Nick yelled at him and then reminded him that the first rule of the records room is no more than three wikipedia pages open at once, and said that if he didn’t close them then Nick was going to get the guy in charge of I.T. to block the site from Louis’ computer.”

“Mhmm,” Niall says.

“And Louis said that he would just go flirt with him to get him to unblock it, and Nick said that would probably work well because Tim’s a little sleazy.”

“So is Louis definitely into guys?” Niall asks. “Or just a slut for wikipedia?”

“I…” Harry scrunches his face up. “I  _ think _ he’s into guys? But god, Niall, I don’t know. Sometimes being in that office feels like being on the set of Gilmore Girls. Everyone talks too fast and nothing ever gets said. But he’s talked about flirting with guys a fair amount and I’ve never heard him mention anything about girls at all, besides telling Bebe that he’s got first dibs on babysitting after she gives birth.”

“So you learned he definitely loves kids, and I’m sure that kills you inside.”

Harry groans. “It  _ does! _ I don’t  _ know, _ Niall, this is so  _ hard _ because I think it’s just a little crush and I’ll get over it, but then he does things that are genuinely nice but also sometimes confusingly weird and I don’t know how to process it!”

“Ask him out,” Niall says. 

“Absolutely not.”

Niall slaps him again. 

“He’s my  _ coworker! _ And he barely knows me! And anyway, what if I get him outside of work and realise we’re totally not compatible and then it makes it awkward  _ at work for the rest of our lives?” _

“At maximum I think it’d only be awkward for like, five years,” Niall points out, because he’s very intelligent and also personally has experience with these things. 

“I couldn’t do it,” Harry says. “I’d have to burn down the building or something.”

“Yeah I think quitting would be a safer alternative, but we’ll burn that bridge when we come to it.” Niall thinks. He’s determined to get Harry a boyfriend  _ soon _ and Harry does not seem to be quite as on board. “Okay, so arrange an out-of-work activity,” he says. “Get your whole office to go bowling or something.”

_ “Bowling?” _

“Or  _ something!” _ Niall’s face lights up. “The aquarium is always good for a totally not awkward four person dynamic!” 

“I’m not inviting my entire office to the aquarium.”

“Not with  _ that  _ attitude you’re not.” Niall yawns. “Listen. I’m going to keep thinking. But we’re not done here. Don’t think I’ll forget this.”

“Are you going to get off of me?” Harry asks. “Because I need coffee.”

“Fight me,” Niall says, and turns to rest his cheek against Harry’s knees. “I’m up past my bedtime because I waited for you.”

Harry huffs but he doesn’t dislodge Niall. Just grabs the remote and turns on Netflix to the new animated Christmas movie. Perfect. That means Niall can nap here at least two hours, because Harry’s addiction to Christmas movies ensures he won’t move until it’s over.


	8. December 8th

Harry has a weakness for handmade Christmas presents.

Not Christmas presents handmade  _ by _ him - those would be ridiculous and terrible. No, what he really loves is a good craft show, where he can find genius things that he would have never thought to try to make himself.

It’s been tradition since he and Niall were newly acquainted roommates in university to attend this particular crafts show together. Winterfest happens the first full weekend of December every year, and is so vast that Harry and Niall tend to get turned around and lost and have to navigate to the tall Christmas tree in the centre time and again to figure out their bearings. 

It’s wonderful.

Harry’s phone starts vibrating in his pocket and he takes it out to see Niall’s picture blinking up at him. “Hello?”

_ “I lost you,”  _ Niall grumbles from the other end.  _ “Come back!” _

“Come back  _ where?” _ asks Harry, turning in a circle in case he can spot him. Niall should dye his hair blond again, he was much more recognizable.

_ “I’m next to the wooden puzzle booth,” _ Niall says. 

“The green one or the red one?”

_ “Fuck if I know! Why do you keep wandering off? You’re tall, you need to be the one to find me this time.” _

Harry snorts, and stands on his tip toes. “You need to stop getting distracted,” he says. “We’re on a mission!”

“You’re _ on a mission,” _ Niall corrects.  _ “I’m just looking for jam. Okay, I’m in front of the guy who makes all the stone lawn ornaments. Come find me.” _

The phone clicks off and Harry giggles. There’s a choir just around the corner singing  _ Fairytale of New York _ which is jarring and hilarious. There are children dragging their parents from one booth to another, and parents carrying their tired toddlers in their arms. There are Christmas lights strung up every which way, seeming to cover the very sky, and  _ god _ whoever runs this place must be spending an awfully lot on electricity for it all. 

He finally feels like he’s deep in the spirit of Christmas. 

Winterfest is always a good place to pick up presents for his family members (Gemma will forgive a great many of his little-brotherly-faults when presented with a handmade silk scarf), but this year he’s got a second aim; coworker presents. 

It’s not that Harry’s planning on asking Louis out, because as much as he’d rather like to, he’s gone down that road too many times in his mind and it always ends in a very awkward work environment.  _ But, _ if he’s buying presents for  _ all _ his coworkers, then that just makes him a good person! And if he just happens to get a  _ really good one _ for Louis, well that’s just luck of the draw.

Of course, they’ve been here a few hours already and still Harry hasn’t found what he considers to be the perfect present. 

For Nick, he’s picked up a leather journal with  _ Ledger of Perceived Slights _ written across the cover. For Mitch, well, he’s not really sure Mitch  _ enjoys things, _ so so far that’s a blank too. Maybe chocolate.

For Louis he’s considered a fox plush to match his mug, or a painting of a crow so Dennis will have a friend, or an alarm clock (that was nixed as soon as he thought of it). He’s seen any number of necklaces that would look beautiful hung around Louis’ neck, or scarves that he might like. He’s even sampled (extensively) from all of the sweets booths - he knows Louis has a sweet tooth. 

Yet nothing seems good enough yet. 

“There you are,” Niall says from behind him. “You’re a little ferret in a crowd, do you know that?”

“You found me though,” Harry says, grinning. “That’s what counts!”

“It’s not when this is the fifth time this has happened!” Niall slips his finger through one of Harry’s belt loops. “I swear to God, Harry. I’ve been awake for twenty four hours now. Have mercy on me.”

“Sounds like it’s time for a caffeine run,” Harry says, slipping an arm around Niall’s shoulder. “Looks like there’s an espresso booth over there offering samples.”

“Sure does,” Niall says, looking where Harry’s pointing. “And it looks like those two guys you ran away from last week.”

“What—” Harry squints, and then stops in his tracks. “Shit. How does this keep happening.”

Sure enough, there are Liam and Zayn, free sample cups in hand. 

“How do they keep finding me?” Harry asks under his breath. “Or- how do I keep finding them?”

“That one guy was nice last time,” Niall says. “We should go say hi. I want caffeine.”

They’re three booths away, and Harry considers agreeing, but then he watches as Zayn downs his sample cup and, without swallowing, attaches his lips to Liam’s. 

“We are leaving this area,” Harry says, turning and tugging Niall with him as Niall cackles. “I can’t deal with this right now.”

_ “I _ can!” Niall shouts. “Take me back. Those guys are clearly the coolest.”

Harry does not take him back. 

He doesn’t manage to find a present for Louis, either.

He  _ does _ manage to sneakily buy the perfect present for Niall, though; about a hundred small multicoloured fish that he’s going to stick to Niall’s windows when he’s out. 


	9. December 9th

Louis comes rushing into the office at eight fifteen.

“Is he here yet?” he asks, dumping all of his things on the desk.

Harry blinks. “Who?”

“Nick!” Collapsing into his chair, Louis fixes his fringe with his fingers. “Have you seen him?”

“Oh. No?” 

_ “Good!  _ If he asks, I was always here. I’m trying to look like I got here on time, so-” he mimes locking his lips.

“But you’re here so early,” Harry says. “I mean- for you. I guess technically you’re late, but—”

“But today I was  _ on time,” _ Louis says, giving him a look.  _ “Right?” _

“Right,” Harry agrees quickly, nodding. “Yes. Of course.”

“Mitch?” Louis seeks his agreement as well.

“Don’t give a fuck,” Mitch says.

“Good enough.”

Louis starts booting up his computer, and a few minutes later, Harry hears him curse. “Shit! He’s not coming in until noon today!”

—

Nick waltzes into the records room just after noon and announces, “Drop whatever you’re doing, we’re stealing a filing cabinet.”

“We’re doing what now?” Louis asks.

“Stealing a filing cabinet. Was I not clear?” Nick makes a grand motion toward the long table that lines one wall. “We’ll move that… somewhere. The filing cabinet will go here. Come on, I have it on good authority that Bebe is on lunch for the next hour so we’ve got a little less than an hour to get it out of her office and down here.”

“Why?” asks Harry, feeling like it might be a stupid question. 

“Because all Bebe keeps in her cabinet are files that should have been digitized ages ago anyway,” Nick says. “Plus, they’re sending someone around tomorrow who’s going to ‘evaluate for space’ or whatever, and I’ll be damned if they try to move you guys to a smaller office somewhere further away from mine. I need to be only a door down from you at all times.”

“Aww,” Louis cooes. “You do care!”

“I care about not having to use the stairs, you’re damn right I do. Now, hup hup! Let’s go!” He motions for them to stand and follow him, which Harry only does after he sees Louis doing it. Sometimes Nick says things that he does not actually mean, and god forbid Harry be the one to fall for it. 

“How are we carrying it? How big is it?” Louis asks as they walk out of the office and down the hall. Mitch follows silently behind them, rather like what Harry thinks it would feel like to be followed by a vampire.

“I don’t know, it’s filing cabinet sized,” Nick says. “We’re carrying it, of course! We’re strong.”

He’s walking at a brusque pace in front of them, down corridors into a section of the building that Harry’s never seen before (on Harry’s first day he was supposed to take a tour of all the different departments, but Louis found him first and declared that records room people never go anywhere besides the copier room anyway so it was unnecessary). 

With Nick in front of them and Mitch behind them, Harry finds himself walking shoulder to shoulder with Louis, feeling a tingle run down his arm every time their hands brush. 

“Here’s her office,” Nick whispers, even though there’s no one around in the corridor. He pushes the door inward and flips on the light as they follow him in.

Something about Bebe’s office screams comfort and homeliness. She’s got blankets draped over her chair, plush curtains hung over the window that she must have put up herself, and proudly framed pictures hung from every surface. They’re a mix of her, a good looking man, and a small poofball of a dog. There’s also mugs on about every surface that look like they’ve been brewed and forgotten.

“There’s the one,” Nick says, pointing to what Harry thinks might be the largest filing cabinet he’s ever seen. 

“Nick.” Louis says. “Nick, for the love of God. We cannot move that.”

“Sure we can!” Nick argues. The cabinet is as tall as he is and probably a good four feet wide. “We’re strong!”

“I play footie,” says Louis. “I have noodle arms and I like them that way.”

_ Louis plays footie, _ Harry thinks. He files that away for present possibilities and also just to dwell on later.

“Mitch is strong!” Nick says, turning to Mitch. 

Mitch just shakes his head. 

“You all just need to believe in yourselves,” Nick says indignantly. “Come on, let’s push.”

He sidles up to the side of the cabinet and pushes. It doesn’t budge. Harry stands by Louis and Mitch as they all watch. 

“If you three do not help me push this cabinet right now, I’m canceling records room Christmas,” Nick says. 

Louis huffs and walks over to help, prompting Harry and Mitch to follow. The four of them all push. It doesn’t budge in the slightest, just creaks ominously. 

“Even if we were to move this,” Louis pants, leaning against it. “We couldn’t get it all the way down the hall to the records room. We’d die. Harry would definitely die, look at those spindly little legs of his.”

Harry makes a noise of protest, blushing at the fact that Louis has noticed that he has legs. 

Mitch pulls open one of the four drawers. “These are full,” he says. “You’re trying to get us to move… a full filing cabinet.”

Nick opens his mouth and then closes it again. His eventual comeback is, “Well next time when I hire for the records room, I’ll have them perform a strength test.”

Before Louis can say anything in return like Harry can see that he wants to, the door to the office opens and Bebe walks in. 

“What are all you  _ men _ doing in my room?” she asks, hands on her hips. As heavily pregnant as she is, it’s a terribly intimidating pose.

Then her posture changes. “Oh,” she says. “Have you decided you wanted the filing cabinet after all? If you’ve changed your mind, I can call maintenance and have them come over and move it.”

Nick stutters and Harry smiles as he watches Louis breaks into a cackle. Mitch leaves the room. 

— 

The new filing cabinet is bulky enough that it makes their room feel smaller, cozier. 

“This means we’re going to have to rearrange our Christmas decorations,” Louis says. “They needed sprucing up anyway.”

He walks over to the Dead Cabinet and pulls open a drawer. “Come on, let’s brainstorm a theme for this year. It’s not like you’re doing anything important anyway.”

Harry’s just finished standing in front of the copier for an hour as it refused, over and over, to copy anything. He put a sign on it saying that he called maintenance, but can hear through the open doorway the number of people who have ignored the sign and tried anyway. 

So, yeah, he’s not really doing anything important. 

Mitch is taking a late lunch, although Harry could have sworn he took a lunch a few hours ago. He isn’t one to question Mitch, though.

Louis starts pulling things out and tossing them onto Harry’s desk. It’s quite a pile, and, filled with curiosity, Harry starts trying to pull things apart. 

He finds a small craft paper Christmas tree, about a foot tall. Then, he finds a craft paper Christmas tree about two feet tall,  _ then _ he finds a craft paper Christmas tree about five feet tall (at least, he thinks that’s what it is, it seems to have been folded while covered in tape so everything is stuck together). 

There’s also a stack of black craft paper, a stack of red craft paper, and a cut-out of what looks like fire, coloured in crayon. 

The last thing Louis pulls out is a paper Santa hat. “This one goes on the  _ Mona Lisa,” _ he says, sticking it to the portrait on their door. “So she can feel festive too.”

Harry points to the black construction paper with a questioning look on his face. 

“That’s the fireplace,” Louis explains as he starts sticking fresh tape to the back of one of the trees. “It’s our Christmas centrepiece. We’ve got stockings to hang on it too.”

“A… black fireplace?”

“Yeah!” Louis looks offended. “You know. Behind the fire! The red is the bricks. You can tell because I coloured them in with red crayon.”

Harry picks up one of the pieces of red construction paper. He’s right. It’s red construction paper coloured in with red crayon. “Okay,” he says. “Yeah. Sure.”

Louis purses his lips. “We’re not relying on our artistic abilities to win the competition,” he says. “I know I don’t have those. That’s why we bribe the judges.”

“We do what now?”

“We bribe the judges!” Louis sticks the smallest tree to the wall right next to Harry’s desk. “That’s what Christmas is all about. Mitch may not be a talker but I’ve never met a man who makes Christmas cookies as delicious as his. We stick some in all the judges’ mailboxes with a note that there’ll be more if things go well.”

“And does that work?”

Louis shrugs. “I mean… no. But Bebe was picked as one of the judges this year, so that’s a start. She’s pregnant. She needs cookies.”

— 

By the time Mitch comes back from lunch, the paper trees have been taped up, as has the fireplace. It’s not the most impressive fireplace Harry’s ever seen, but it’s got… character.

“Now we just need a theme,” Louis says. “Something to pull the room together.”

Mitch frowns at the decorations. “Flammable Christmas.”

“You make that joke every year and it’s never funny,” Louis says, throwing a paperclip at him. “Just because everything is made of construction paper. Our whole office is paper!”

Harry starts to wonder where the closest fire extinguisher is.

“What if we made snowflakes,” Louis asks. “Just covered the whole office in snowflakes. Make it a blizzard scene.”

Then he glances at the crayon-covered fireplace. “Or we go buy something and we don’t rely on our artistic ability,” he says instead. 

“I think it’s charming,” Harry pouts. The fireplace is adorable. A little pathetic, but adorable.

“Right, well. We think on it and reconvene tomorrow,” Louis says. “We need a real brilliant idea.”


	10. December 10th

The copier is still broken today. If anything, it’s  _ more _ broken than it was yesterday. 

Today, when Harry walks past the copier room, he glances inside and sees that the copier machine - the six foot long  _ giant _ of a copier machine that his job depends on - is hanging open, the doors to the inside of it thrown wide, and there seems to be shreds of some sort of black material hanging from the gears that definitely shouldn’t be there. 

The Bob Marley meme that someone long ago taped to the side of the copier that reads  _ ‘Current copier status - Jammin’ _ feels like an understatement. 

This is bad news for Harry.

Bad news because there are other, smaller copiers on the floors above him that he will have to use. Smaller copiers in territory that the records room has not claimed as their own, surrounded by people who don’t know him and whom will probably frown at him taking an hour to get through his stack. 

The copier has only broken once before while Harry’s been working, and he spent two hours on the second floor feeling like he’d broken into someone else’s house to use their appliances.

With a sigh, Harry gathers his stack of plans and takes the stairs to the second floor. The copier room that he walks into is more well lit than his own, and the smaller machine is years newer. He doesn’t have to worry about them jamming every five sheets when his back is turned.

Just like last time, Harry finds himself surrounded by strangers who don’t know what to do with him. They come in to make copies and then see Harry’s tall stack that he’s working through and just stand there staring for a minute or two. Sometimes they’ll try to jam their way in while he’s stapling a plan back together. Harry feels like an animal in the zoo the way they’re tracking his movements. 

The second floor is not a place for records specialists. Harry hopes his copier gets fixed soon. 

— 

Carrying his stack of plans that have now doubled in size, Harry walks back into the records room a little after ten. At some point during his absence, Louis has arrived.

“Christ,” Louis says, looking at him with wide eyes. “Did you carry all of those from the second floor?”

“Uh,” says Harry, nearly tripping over his own feet (and he had been doing so well!). “Yes?”

“Holy shit,” says Louis. “I’m not strong enough for that. Why didn’t you take the cart?”

The cart is a wheeled wire cart that sits in the corner next to the supply closet. 

“I didn’t want to use the lift,” Harry mumbles, embarrassed, setting down his stack on his desk. 

_ “You took the stairs with that stack?” _ Louis asks, clearly shocked. “Do you have a  _ death wish?” _

“I’m not  _ that _ clumsy!” Harry argues weakly. He might have tripped on the corner of his desk yesterday while setting up Christmas decorations, but  _ still. _

“You’re walking down the stairs with a stack of plans taller than you!” Louis points at his stack accusatorially. “Anyone would die! And if you die Nick will blame me!”

“He’d blame you?” Harry asks, blinking. 

“Yeah! Because I’m the eldest records room sibling.”

“He’s the parent, isn’t he? Wouldn’t it be his fault?”

“Nothing’s ever Nick’s fault. That’s the whole point of being in charge. The  _ point is, _ why would you  _ not _ take the lift?”

Mitch, who has been scrolling his phone with his headphones in, looks over at Louis. “Simon,” he says. 

Ah, so Mitch gets it.

Simon is the receptionist at the front of the building, his job is to buzz in any guests. Everyone who works here has a keycard that, thankfully, lets them in the back, But the lift is right in front of Simon’s desk, and taking it runs the risk of Simon catching you in conversation, in which he will mostly go on and on about just how much he hates his neighbours and every single nefarious thing they’ve ever apparently done. 

“Ah,” says Louis, comprehension dawning in his eyes. “Actually yeah, that checks out.”

Harry was caught by Simon the last time he had to copy on the second floor, and after half an hour of trying to escape a conversation about Simon’s neighbour’s parrot (to whom they’ve taught quite a lot of foul language that is apparently directed at Simon), Harry had vowed never again. 

“Still, take a smaller stack,” Louis says. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t die.”

“Noted,” says Harry. He feels pleased by that. 

— 

At some point after four when Harry is working  _ slowly _ so that he doesn’t have to go up to the second floor again to copy, Liam appears.

He comes in lugging two oversized pads of paper. “Zayn doesn’t want these anymore,” he says. “And I tried calling Bebe, but she isn’t picking up, so I’m going to leave these in the supply room and maybe someone will want them.” he turns to Louis. “Louis, if someone asks, will you…?”

“I’ll tell them I know nothing,” Louis says, not looking up from the snowflake he’s cutting since he’s declared the last half hour of the day Christmas craft time. 

Liam sighs, putting a hand to his face. “Harry,” he says. “I can count on you. You’ve not been corrupted yet. Just if someone asks—”

“People don’t ask me things,” Harry interrupts. “I’m too new. No one talks to me.”

“You two are impossible,” Liam says, and Harry can’t help the smile that spreads across his face. He makes eye contact with Louis, whose smile is equally secretive and whide. “Fine. I’ll go find someone who’s not working against me.”

“You do that,” Louis says. “But leave the paper behind! It seems useful.”

Liam throws up his hands and makes a shrill noise as he leaves. 

Louis looks at the giant pad of yellow paper. “Yellow snowflakes? Is that something?”

“That’s gross,” says Harry. “Maybe not.”


	11. December 11th

Nick strides into the office around eight thirty. “Louis’ going to be late,” he says. “Like. Actually late. Using his time off and stuff, not normal late. He said something about meeting with his landlord.”

He then points at Harry. “Don’t go around picking up his bad habits,” he instructs. 

Harry nods agreeably.

“You’re too young to be corrupted. Be careful. The world is full of dark places and people like Louis who never get anywhere on time.”

With that, he strides back out of the room.

— 

“I was at my siblings’ school yesterday,” Louis says by way of introduction as he rushes in a little after ten. “And I had the absolute  _ best _ idea.”

“Oh yeah?” asks Harry. He’s just come from the second floor as the copier still has its innards laying about the copier room floor. People gave him dirty looks. He could use some cheering up.

“Yeah!” Says Louis. “A sensory room!”

“A sensory room?”

Louis sits with a dramatic  _ thud _ and rolls his chair forward, putting his elbows on his desk and resting his chin on his interlaced fingers like he’s doing a photoshoot as he fixes Harry with an excited look. “A sensory room! My youngest siblings go to a school that has a room filled with  _ cool sensory things! _ It’s to help them calm down! I think we need it. To relieve work stress, of course.”

“What kind of sensory things?” Harry asks. 

“Bean bag chairs,” Louis says, already counting on his fingers. He’s clearly been making a list in his head just for this moment. “Glow in the dark stars on the ceiling. Dried corn kernels! Like you can stick your hands in them. A trampoline! Slime! We can make slime, my sisters made it  _ all the time _ last summer!”

“Slime,” says Mitch flatly. 

“Yeah!” Louis shoots him a pouting look. “It’ll be amazing. We need stress relief! We could put it in that corner!” He points next to Harry’s desk where his wire cart resides. “Get a sandbox and fill it with pillows and beanbags!”

“I’m not sure there’s that much room,” Harry points out. “But I like the corn kernels idea. Is that a real thing?”

“Of course it is!” Louis shouts, excitement in his eyes. Harry sits, stacks of plans forgotten, transfixed as he continues his rant. “At Dory and Ernie’s school they have a whole sandbox filled with corn kernels, because it’s not as messy. Ooh, and we could hang black curtains over there! Get some glow in the dark things. Like glow sticks. It’d be  _ so great!” _

The records room is enough of an outcast in the building as it is that Harry truly thinks people would not bat an eye. “I have fairy lights at home…” he says slowly.

“YES!” Louis shouts. “Now you’re thinking! Maybe get some like. Beads on strings like bedroom doorways in the nineties.”

The door opens and Nick saunters in as Louis finishes speaking. “I thought I could hear you yelling,” he says, collapsing into his chair.

“Nick!” says Louis. “We need a sensory corner!”

“A what?”

“A sensory corner! With bean bags and glow sticks and corn!”

“What’s he talking about?” Nick asks, looking at Harry.

“In that corner,” Harry supplies. “For work stress.” He doesn’t know when  _ he _ became the Louis interpreter here. 

“Absolutely not,” Nick says and Louis makes a sound of indignation. “What do you think would happen when a higher up walks in here and sees your weird craft corner? Plus, how are we supposed to win the Christmas decorating competition with that? It’ll confuse the voters!”

“Oh, speaking of,” Louis says, quick to ignore Nick’s arguments. “I was thinking; Christmas tree farm.”

“Christmas tree farm?” Harry asks.

“Christmas tree farm! In our office! Let’s just cover everything in Christmas trees! We can make a sign that says ‘Christmas trees five quid’ or whatever.”

“You have  _ no _ idea how much Christmas trees cost,” Nick argues.

“Shush, it makes it like in the olden days. Rustic. Harry!” Louis points at Harry. “You think it’s a great idea!”

Harry blushes, scrunching his nose to keep from smiling too wide. “It could work,” he says. 

“Good!” Louis shouts, jumping up. “Nick! Fund our venture!”

“I’m not buying you Christmas trees, I think that’s a fire hazard.”

“No,” Louis scoffs. “Paper! We’ll make them! Craft day!”

Christmas craft time was yesterday,” Nick points out.

“This is in the name of  _ winning the contest,” _ Louis says, going over to the coffee maker and flipping it on. Oh god, Louis hasn’t even had coffee yet and he’s already this excited? “You want us to  _ win, _ don’t you?”

“I sure do. I want to rub it in those cheaters’ faces,” Nick says and then sighs deeply. “Fine. I’ll fund you. Let me go see where I can find some green paper. But I’m taking it out of your records room Christmas party budget. We’re doing the buffet at Hofbrauhaus, no ordering on the side.”

“Deal,” says Louis.

“And no sensory corner,” Nick says, standing.

“We will revisit that issue later,” Louis says. “It’s important for our mental wellbeing.”

After Nick leaves, Louis turns back to Harry. “We’ll convince him,” he says. “I want bean bags.”

“I liked the corn,” Mitch muses. 

— 

Nick has found green printer paper. It’s a rather pastel shade of green, but Louis seems to have no qualms with it. He’s been working on cutting out Christmas tree shapes for the last hour or so. Each one he holds up for Harry to see, and Harry has been complimenting each one.

(Or, he’s been trying to. Some of his Christmas trees have been looking  _ very _ off).

Around three, Zayn appears with his dolley. “Hey,” he says, looking at no one in particular. “Did Liam drop off a pad of yellow notebook paper?”

“Maybe,” says Louis. “Hey Zayn! What do you think of my Christmas tree?”

He holds up a rather star-shaped tree. 

“Uh,” says Zayn. “It’s… green?”

“Excellent, that’s exactly what I was going for.” Louis drops it and grabs a new piece of green paper. 

Zayn blinks, and then tries again. “So, if Liam  _ did _ drop off a pad of yellow paper…”

Harry actually has no idea where it’s gone, so he stays silent, although he feels bad for how much Zayn seems to not want to be talking about this. 

“If he  _ did  _ drop off a pad of yellow paper,” Louis hedges. “Then he  _ might _ have said you didn’t want it any more and it  _ might _ no longer be quite the same as it was.”

Zayn looks to Mitch, who just shrugs. 

Zayn looks to Harry, who copies Mitch and also shrugs. 

“Louis,” Zayn pleads. “You  _ know _ I can’t control Liam,  _ please _ tell me where the paper is.”

Louis grins an extra toothy grin. “About half of it is in the supply closet,” he says. “I used the other half for Christmas crafts.”

With a sigh, Zayn walks through their room to the supply closet. He opens it and there, sure enough, is the giant pad of yellow paper.

The  _ top half _ of the pad of yellow paper.

“You cut it down  _ the middle?” _ Zayn asks, exasperated. “I thought you just took some pages off!”

“I  _ said _ I took half!” Louis defends. “I just didn’t say  _ which  _ half!”

When Zayn leaves, looking as exasperated as always, Louis puts up his hand and stage whispers to Harry,  _ “There were gross love notes from Liam in there. I tore them all out and I’m going to use them as blackmail.” _


	12. December 12th

Harry can hear Nick yelling across the hall. 

He can’t tell what Nick is  _ saying, _ but there’s clearly a lot of passion there, even for Nick. 

This morning when Harry came in, there were two small artificial Christmas trees in front of Mitch’s desk. When Harry gave him and the trees a questioning look, Mitch had simply shrugged and said, “Louis said the theme this year was a tree farm,” and went back to looking at his phone. So that was interesting. There was _ also _ an email in his inbox stating that the copier was fixed. The email also stated that the copiers on the second floor were down, which meant that people would be coming down to the first floor to try to use  _ his, _ but at least Harry would be in his own territory this time around. Home base, and all that. 

He had gone to use the copier and it had scanned three pages before jamming. 

He tried again. It had jammed again.

He tried a third time and a meltingly hot piece of what looked like vinyl had come out along with the piece of jammed paper he had pulled out. 

Harry had stood there, in front of the copier with his arms full of plans that needed to be copied, and realised that this meant there were no working copiers in the building.  _ And _ everyone from the upper floors who read the email would be coming down to his copier only to find it broken. 

Harry did not want to be here when that happened.

He fled back to the safety of the records room and worked up the courage to ask Mitch for a digital folder of plans to index while he waited for someone to, once again, come fix the copiers. 

— 

Nick storms in, with Bebe hot on his heels. She must have been who Nick was yelling to. 

“It’s a  _ travesty,” _ he says to the room at large. “An absolute  _ disaster?” _

“What is?” asks Louis, who has been cutting snowflakes at his desk. He might also be doing something work-related on his computer, but so far Harry hasn’t seen too much evidence pointing to that. 

“The Christmas party isn’t going to have  _ ham!” _ Nick shouts. Bebe sighs and shuts the door so that he is not disturbing the entire floor. 

“I thought we were going to Hofbrauhaus?” Harry asks. They  _ have _ been talking about it fairly constantly. 

“We’re going to Hofbrauhaus for the records room Christmas party,” Louis clarifies. “I think Nick is talking about the building Christmas party, which is the day before.” 

“They do this to me every year,” Nick says, collapsing into his chair although Harry rather thinks he should be offering it to Bebe, who is still standing next to him and clearly highly pregnant. “Every year they try to take ham away from me! And every year I fight them and they put it back on, as they should! But  _ apparently _ my request has been denied!” He throws an arm over his face. “The party planning committee is serving  _ pork loin.” _

Louis gasps in a theatrical expression. “They  _ wouldn’t!” _

“Nick’s just upset because he got kicked off the party planning committee two years ago,” Bebe says, crossing her arms. “And anyway, they don’t have the budget.”

“That is  _ unacceptable,” _ Nick argues. “Ham is an  _ important part of Christmas!” _

“My family eats turkey,” Louis says. “Not much of a ham family.”

“Your family is  _ canceled,” _ Nick shouts, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Harry! Don’t tell me you’re in on this conspiracy too!”

“Harry’s worked here a month,” Louis points out. “He’s not even met the people on the party planning committee.”

“No, I mean the conspiracy of people who don’t eat ham for Christmas.”

“Oh.”

Harry shrugs. “We do a yorkshire pud,” he says. “But my sister is a vegetarian so usually a meat-free stew in it.”

Nick gapes at him. “This is even worse than I’d thought,” he says. “The records room siblings have been  _ deprived of their ham!” _

“Not really,” Louis says. He unfolds the snowflake he was working on and holds it up to Harry, who smiles brightly at it. It’s a little chunky but Harry thinks it has flair. “You’re just ham-obsessed.”

“I’m getting us a ham,” Nick declares, getting out his phone. “Just for the records room. We’ll eat at the holiday party,  _ but _ we’ll bring our own ham. And no one else is allowed to have any!”

“No one else will  _ want _ any,” Bebe mutters, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Anyway, if Nick is done…”

“Never done,” Nick says. “But I’m ordering ham. Continue.”

“Right.” Bebe claps her hands. “I am officially here to announce that the decorating competition has been moved up to Monday! Some of the judges are going on holiday early so we had to move it up.”

_ “What?” _ exclaims Nick, who apparently didn’t even check to know why Bebe had been following him into the room.  _ “This is a disaster!” _

“A lot of things are a disaster to you today,” Louis remarks. “But I do see your point. We’ve gotta shift into panic mode!”

“Panic mode!” Nick yells. ‘This room is not  _ nearly  _ Christmassy enough!”

“My work here is done,” Bebe says. “Good luck and all that. I’m going to go eat an entire box of animal crackers.”


	13. December 13th

_ Dear Records Room Children. _

_ An emergency Fika has been called. _

_ Please meet at the appointed time of 11:20 in the records room. _

“Does he know we like… work in here?” Harry asks, reading over the email from Nick. 

“Yeah, but he likes things to be official,” Louis says. “Sometimes he comes in and you’re at the copier and he complains that not all of his records room children are present and accounted for.”

Harry feels oddly touched by that sentiment. 

Louis’ had a sort of nervous energy about him all morning, and it’s making Harry feel jittery in response. He’s not sure how to describe it, because Louis doesn’t  _ sound _ nervous when Harry talks to him, but it seems like something is on his mind. 

Then again, that could be because Louis has at this point abandoned  _ all _ pretense of doing his job, and has only been creating decorations for the records room. Harry has at least been sort of trying to get his plans done, considering he’s only worked here a month and a half and doesn’t want to seem irresponsible just yet, but Louis keeps roping him into helping. 

This morning that  _ helping _ was in the form of Louis finding a video online on folding paper into three dimensional Christmas trees, and then dismally failing at making it himself. He would narrate it as he tried, a running stream of, “Oh, and then you fold that bit, but then you fold  _ that inward, _ but I don’t know how that’s supposed to— oh shit- well then I can try to undo that bit—”

He had gone through three pieces of construction paper before whining out, “Har _ -ry, _ please tell me you’re good at origami, because I know Mitch  _ isn’t _ and I  _ need help.” _

So then Harry found himself standing behind Louis at his desk, trying to work out the instructional video and not get distracted by Louis’ desk trinkets, his notes to himself, or even worse, his  _ smell. _

He smells  _ amazing. _

There are notes all over Louis’ desk, much more than Harry was ever able to see from his own. A bunch of them are written in a handwriting that Harry thinks he recognizes as Nicks, that say things like  _ Records Rule #2 No more than three wikipedia tabs open at once, Records Rule @3 Don’t get drunk and kiss your coworkers,  _ and  _ Louis Tomlinson is allowed to use the word ‘shit’ in the records room ONLY when in relevant context. _

There’s also a few that are in a loopy handwriting that Harry knows is Louis’ own; they read things like  _ piece of sh** _ (that one is stuck to the desk scanner),  _ CTRL+ALT+T+I+T+S,  _ and  _ Don’t forget cheese. _

These are all scattered between countless binder clips, paperclips, and miniature fox figurines in what is a total mess of a desk area. 

The tree was actually not too hard to figure out, probably thanks to Harry’s years of making origami swans in class when he was younger and antsy. Explaining it to Louis, though, was absolute hell. He was terrible at taking directions, to the point where Harry did something that he  _ absolutely should not have _ and grabbed Louis’ hands to keep him from folding the paper the wrong direction for the fifth time. 

His hands were  _ warm _ and  _ small _ and  _ angled _ and Harry about swooned right there.

When Louis finally managed a rather mangled one with Harry’s help he let out a crow of joy and immediately started another. Harry went back to his desk but within minutes Louis’ second one was just as disfigured as the others. It took two more trips to his desk before Louis finally seemed to get the hang of it. 

Now, as Harry accepts the calendar appointment that Nick sent out for Fika (which is in only five minutes), Louis is on his seventh tree. They’re starting to cover his desk in a little paper forest.

“What  _ is _ fika?” Harry asks, since he’s clearly not going to be distracting Louis from actual work. Or Mitch, considering Harry’s not sure if he’s ever seen Mitch do work.

“Oh, fika is a coffee break with pastries and chitchat,” Louis says. “Nick learned about it a couple years ago at Ikea and became obsessed. Except we don’t usually have pastries unless there are some we can steal in the break room.”

“So we’re having… a coffee break?”

“Essentially.” Louis successfully adds another tree to his collection. “It’s also when the best gossip happens.”

As if on cue, the door opens and Nick strolls in. He’s got a package of some kind in his hands. “Fika time!” he says. 

“I’ve got coffee brewed from half an hour ago,” Louis says, sipping from his fox mug to demonstrate. “Should be enough for everyone.”

Nick frowns. “No!” he says. “That’s your personal coffee, not fika coffee! Where’s the fika coffee?”

Louis scowls. “I’m not dumping good coffee just to brew your Ikea coffee! It’s perfectly good!”

“No,” Nick argues petulantly. “I won’t allow it. And I will not share the windmill biscuits I brought until we make authentic fika coffee.”

“Then you’re not going to share your windmill biscuits I guess,” Louis says, his gaze steely. “Drink my coffee or perish.”

Harry feels vaguely like his parents are fighting. He stares at his screen and tries to remember what he was working on. 

After a few moments of tense silence, Mitch stands from his desk and goes over to the coffee maker, pouring the entire thing into his own large mug. “Make your coffee,” he says, sitting back down. 

Harry now feels like his parents are fighting  _ and _ his cool uncle is here. 

“Emergency fika is back on!” Nick says triumphantly. “I’ll make coffee. We will have light chitchat.”

He leaves with the coffee pot and returns with it filled with water, taking a small blue bag from the back of the cabinet that must be the “fika coffee” and filling the back of the coffee maker. As it makes bubbling and brewing noises he puts the package of windmill biscuits on Louis’ desk, who goes for them immediately. “Anyway,” he says. “Light chitchat time. Traffic wasn’t too bad this morning. The weather should be colder because I’d like some snow for Christmas. The economy and all that. And I have a plan to win the decorating contest.”

“Oh do you?” Louis asks, his mouth full of biscuits.

“I do!” Nick pours himself a cup of coffee even while it’s still dripping, the machine hissing as coffee hits the bottom with no coffee pot. “We’re going to bribe them with ham.”

Louis snorts and then coughs, having to drink his coffee to recover. “Sure,” he says. “Ham.”

“I will buy the records room ham,” Nick continues. “We will have a sign up. Harry can make it, he has nice handwriting. It will read  _ Do you want ham? Ask us how!  _ Then one of  _ you, _ because officially of course I am not a part of this, will tell them all about how if they vote for us, they will be allowed on the list for Christmas ham. Everyone will love it. We will win.”

Harry’s rather caught up on Nick thinking he has nice handwriting. Has he ever  _ seen _ Harry’s handwriting?

“This is a terrible idea,” Louis says. “But I see no reason not to. Let’s do it.”

Harry can see many reasons not to. Bribery, for one. But he’s not going to disagree. Today does not seem like the day for that. 

Ham it is. 


	14. December 14th

Niall’s got his apron on because today is time to get  _ down to business _ and do the Christmas baking. 

One thing that Niall  _ loves _ about living with Harry is that Harry insists on having all of the fanciest kitchen implements, despite rarely using any of them. He fancies himself a baker, but all things considered gets a lot less use out of the kitchen than Niall. 

Which just means that Niall gets to use all those fancy kitchen things without having paid for a single one. 

Today he’s planning about six rounds of cookies, and also a batch of mince pies to freeze until the appropriate time. Christmas is  _ nothing _ without cookies, and Niall is  _ nothing _ if not a  _ very good baker. _

So what if Harry constantly complains his cookies don’t have enough flavour? He should make his own. 

So today finds Niall at the kitchen counter with his special Christmas apron and Harry’s fancy red stand mixer, blasting his super special amazing Christmas playlist that he spent almost a week curating. 

He also has a perfect view of Harry, lying prone on the couch in the living room, looking very dead indeed. 

Harry’s been moaning all morning. He still hasn’t found a Christmas gift for Louis, and is clearly terribly upset about it. Niall’s sympathetic, but he’s also pragmatic. No gift is the perfect Christmas gift. That’s why Niall gets everyone socks. Nobody loves them and nobody hates them, and they’re  _ jazzy. _ Sometimes  _ too _ jazzy.

“Niall,” Harry yells from his position. He’s face-down. It’s muffled.

“Yes my dear Harry?” Niall calls back. 

“Can you bring me hot chocolate?” Harry asks. “And a blanket. I want to mope.”

“I cannot,” Niall says, cracking an egg into the mixing bowl. “Whoops. Already covered in egg. Oh well. You’ll have to get it yourself.”

Harry makes some sort of disgruntled noise that Niall barely hears above his music. He watches as Harry rolls over and lands on their floor. Gross, that hasn’t been swept in weeks. 

By the time Harry trudges to the kitchen, Niall’s already most of the way through his first batch, the mixer running as he dumps his utensils into the sink. 

“You’re too chipper,” Harry grouses. 

“It’s Christmas,” Niall says. “You’re just upset for no good reason. Tell that guy you love him and then kiss him a bunch.”

“I will  _ not,” _ Harry says. “And you  _ can’t make me.” _

“I’m not at that point. Yet.” Niall turns off the mixer and sprays his cookie pans. “And if you help me bake maybe I won’t be for a few more days at least.”

“Can I eat the dough?” Harry asks, looking hopeful. 

“Only once there’s a batch in the oven,” Niall says. “It’ll kill you of course, because raw flour is  _ very dangerous, _ but I know you’re a monster and won’t listen to me.”

“I sure won’t,” Harry agrees, sticking his hands straight into the dough without washing them. God, what a monster. 

— 

Hours and bowls of dough later, Niall is stacking up the tupperware containers of dough when he sees Harry’s phone pinging from the living room floor. 

“Uh,” Niall picks up Harry’s phone. “You know there seems to be a very fast moving conversation happening on your phone?”

“Hmm?” Harry hums, his hands wrist deep in cookie dough. “From who?”

Unlocking Harry’s phone with his own thumbprint, which Niall programmed in as soon as Harry got his phone, Niall scans the messages. Oh. Oh this is good. 

“You’re in a groupchat with your coworkers?” he asks, watching Harry’s face and not being disappointed as his eyes widen into a look of panic.

“Give me that,” he says, reaching out with floury hands. Niall bats him away.

“I don’t know what dirty thing you might think your coworkers are saying on this chat that you don’t want me to see,” Niall says. “But I can assure you it’s none of that. In fact, this looks entirely work-related.”

“Give iiiiiit,” Harry moans, holding up his floury hands with limp wrists, like a sad t-rex.

“Wash your hands, Dirty,” Niall says. “I’ll just be here snooping until you can show me clean fingers.”

“You’re not my mom,” Harry whines, but he does as he’s told, rinsing them off in the sink in between the piles of dishes they’ve made. “Now hand it!”

Niall hands it over with a grin, snickering as Harry almost drops it. He’s already read through all the messages.

**Nick:** _ Emergency records room meeting scheduled for tomorrow afternoon, place and time TBD. Records room children sound off!  _

**Louis:** _ Emergency records room meeting NOT scheduled. Cancelled. Isn’t happening. _

**Nick:** _ Louis will be there. Mitch? Harry? _

**Mitch:** _ Will I get paid _

**Nick:** _ No _ _   
_ **Nick:** _ But you’re coming anyway _

**Louis:** _ It’s not happening so you’re not coming _ _   
_ **Louis:** _ and SOME PEOPLE shouldn’t be spreading my CONFIDENTIAL BUSINESS _

**Nick:** _ I hear you and also I don’t care because I cannot let my children be homeless. Starbucks on main, at 2pm. Where is Harry _

**Louis:** _ Probably blocking you like I should have years ago _

**Mitch:** _ Someone else is paying for my drink _

**Nick:** _ As the records room parent it is my JOB to provide for my children. No larger than grande though. _

**Louis:** _ IF I show up you have to buy me food too. Because of the trauma this is causing me. _

**Nick:** _ You get a cake pop. _ _   
_ **Nick:** _ Harry? _ _   
_ **Nick:** _ Is Harry dead? Has he been kidnapped? _

Niall watches over Harry’s shoulder as he types and then un-types and then types again, eventually settling on something simple;

**Harry:** _ I can be there _

Niall snorts. “Your hands are shaking,” he says. Because they are. Harry’s a goddamn mess and that’s what Niall loves about him.

**Nick:** _ Good! All present and accounted for! Tomorrow at 14:00 hours! Louis you are allowed to be no more than ten minutes late. _

**Louis:** _ Shut _ _   
_ **Louis:** _ I’ll be as late as I goddamn want to be _

**Nick:** _ Language! _

**Mitch:** _ How do I leave this chat _


	15. December 15th

Harry has been standing in front of the mirror for a very long time. 

It’s the mirror that came with the flat when they moved in. Everyone knows that it’s a terrible, horrible mirror. It’s the sort of mirror that will take how you look when you’re feeling really good and say,  _ but what if you actually looked not good at all? _

It’s the sort of mirror that Harry really should have gotten rid of a long time ago, but he’s afraid of losing his deposit since, technically, that could be considered damage to the flat. 

But the point is, this is the only full length mirror they own, and Harry wants to make sure he looks  _ cute. _

Every day at work, Harry wears a fairly standard wardrobe. Black trousers that are soft and flowy and a little wide legged, and a button down shirt with a good, loud pattern. It’s standard, it’s easy to do, it’s what he’s interpreted as “business casual”. 

Whether it’s actually business casual, he’s not entirely sure. But no one would give him an exact answer on how he was supposed to dress for a Real Adult Job, so he’s working with what he has.

But  _ now, _ with this  _ records room emergency, _ he’s going to be seeing his coworkers for the first time outside of work in a casual setting, and he needs to be able to show off what he can really do.

(Okay, yes, he’s seen Liam and Zayn outside of work multiple times now, but that’s  _ weird  _ and he’s choosing not to think about it). 

After going through about every combination in his closet, he’s maybe possibly settled on an outfit that is  _ almost _ club-worthy but also would be appropriate to wear to his grandparents’ house on a Sunday afternoon.

He’s got a pair of black skinnies that he had to shimmy a bit to get into (because his ass is an  _ asset _ these days), and his second favorite Rolling Stones shirt. Unlike his favorite, which is full of enough holes that a full nipple could slip out in a moments’ notice, this one only has  _ three _ holes and they look  _ almost _ on purpose, instead of the truth: they were created one day when he rolled his ankle walking down the pavement and completely wiped out. 

It’s cool. He got a cool scar from it.

Then of course he’s got his oldest pair of brown boots, the ones he found in a charity shop years ago, and he’s added enough product to his hair that the curls are a  _ little  _ too bouncy but as he’s not going to shower it’s too late to turn back now. 

Overall, an acceptable I-didn’t-try-too-hard sort of look that he definitely tried too hard on.

The Starbucks that Nick had messaged them about happens to be the one that’s ridiculously close to Harry’s flat, which makes him wonder just how close the rest of them live to him. He’s wondered it a lot in the last twelve hours, in fact. Louis  _ lives _ somewhere. And that somewhere could be near him. Oh god. 

Harry arrives at Starbucks five minutes before two, and finds that he’s the first one there. He orders a snickerdoodle hot chocolate because Bing Crosby is crooning through the speakers and he wants something Christmasssy, and he takes a seat at a table near the window. 

Nick saunters in at exactly two, spots Harry and then screws his face up like he’s smelled something bad. 

“You were  _ supposed _ to let  _ me _ buy your drink,” he says. “Harry you’re so bad at this.”

Harry shrugs, sipping his hot chocolate so that he doesn’t have to respond. Nick collapses into the chair across from him and gets out his phone.

“Mobile ordering,” he says. “It’s much less embarrassing when you get as many add-ins as I’m about to.”

Mitch arrives about five after, and by that time Nick’s drink has arrived. It’s a venti frappuccino of some kind, and the excessive amount of lines of text on the tag make Harry very worried for whatever Nick is putting in his body. 

“Get me coffee,” Mitch says. He’s sporting a beanie and dark sunglasses, and looks much more like a musician Harry would expect to see on a streetcorner than most days in the office. 

“Yeah,” says Grimmy, tapping the app again. “What kind?”

Mitch frowns at him. “Coffee,” he says. 

“Just… just coffee?”

Mitch nods. 

“Right, well you’re a cheap date.” Nick taps around. “I’ve never ordered a just-coffee before, it’ll take me a minute to find it.”

They sit in an awkward semi-silence where Mitch stares out the window and Harry pretends not to do the same watching for Louis as Nick gossips about their coworkers.

“Simon was behind me in the sandwich shop last week,” he’s saying. “I was about to deck him one, hearing the way he talked about Sandwich Lady. You know, the one who makes the sandwiches? She always makes them extra good for us, of course, because I tip her a pound every single time. She knows what to expect with me, yes she does. Anyway, so Simon is behind me, and—”

Harry jumps up a little as he sees Louis appear in the window, a  _ huge _ plush red scarf wrapped around his neck and hanging down to his middle. 

Harry waves to him as he enters and Nick stops his story. “Ah, Louis! Glad you could join us! Only-” he checks “-twenty minutes late, that’s honestly not bad.”

Louis sits with a huff. “Peppermint cake pop,” he says. “And a peppermint mocha. Venti.”

“I’m getting you a grande,” Nick says.

“This meeting is  _ your _ doing, you’re getting me a venti,” Louis growls out. 

Harry shifts in his seat, uncomfortable with how much Louis  _ really _ doesn’t seem to want to be here. He grips his own drink tightly. 

“Right, well I’ve ordered,” Nick says, putting his phone back in his pocket. “And we’re all present and accounted for! Louis, I turn this meeting over to you.”

Louis glares daggers at Nick. “You called this meeting,” he says. “Not me.”

“Fine, be like that.” Nick leans his elbows onto the table. “This meeting is about your dear records room sibling, Louis.”

Suddenly Harry is wondering if Louis is getting fired.

“And as we all know, siblings need to look out for each other, and take care of each other in times of crisis.”

Is Louis sick? Harry thinks, casting a concerned look at Louis, who at that moment is staring behind them at the countertop, waiting for his drink to appear.

“I’m not dying,” Louis says, still staring at the counter, as if he can read Harry’s thoughts.

“Of course not,” Nick says. “But he  _ is _ about to be homeless.”

“I’m  _ not _ about to be homeless either,” Louis argues. “I’m just… not going to have anywhere to live for a week.”

_ “Homeless,” _ Nick repeats. “His building is being fumigated after some tenants did some unsavory things, and he’s being kicked out as of Wednesday. And at times like this, us records room family members need to look out for one another.”

Louis gets up to retrieve his drink, casting one last unimpressed look at Nick. Harry’s head is spinning, somewhat. 

“I would have simply put him up at my house for the week,” Nick says as Louis comes back, mouth already full of cake pop. “But I’ve actually got a boy moving in, myself. Don’t really want to have an awkward sort of three way situation going on right at the beginning of our live-in relationship. Gotta wait at least a few months before that.”

“And  _ all I did _ was ask if he had a couch I could sleep on,” Louis says, sitting back down. “It was  _ not _ a call to action, I was just  _ looking at all the options.” _

“Mhmm,” Nick says. “And have you come up with another option?”

Louis sips his drink and very much does not make eye contact with any of them. “...No,” he says petulantly. 

“Right,” Nick says. “And we can’t have you going homeless, that wouldn’t set a good example for the office. Hence the meeting. How are we going to solve this, then?”

An awkward silence descends on the group.

Nick is… Nick is asking one of them to take in Louis for a week? Well. This is, logically, Harry’s wet dream. But it’s not the sort of thing that actually  _ happens. _ Oh god, he would have to sleep on the couch that Harry was lying on  _ just yesterday _ moaning to Niall about Louis on. Things might  _ smell _ like him. His  _ shampoo  _ would be in Harry’s shower.

This would be a horrible thing. Harry would suffer. 

“Sorry,” Mitch says. “You can’t stay at mine.”

Nick makes a hand motion, prompting him to continue. “And what, pray tell, is more important than hosting your records room sibling?”

Mitch shrugs. He’s still got his sunglasses on, making his face even more unreadable than usual. “I’m going to Disney,” he says. 

“You’re going to… Disney?” Nick repeats.

“Like… in the states?” Harry asks. 

“Yeah,” Mitch says. He chugs what must be half of his coffee and then says, “It’s the only reason I have a job.”

“...Huh,” Nick says. “Okay… Harry?”

Harry gulps. “Uh,” he says. 

“Seriously,” Louis interrupts. “You don’t have to. I can figure something out. It’ll just be a bit of a commute from my mum’s. Like, an hour and a half commute. But I can do it—”

“You can stay with me,” Harry blurts out. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He feels like he’s living in a fantasy world.

“Wait- really?” Louis frowns at him. “Don’t you have a roommate?”

“Niall… wouldn’t care,” Harry says. He  _ knows _ that’s true. Niall actually would be ecstatic. He used to have twelve roommates at a time and constantly complains about how empty the flat is in comparison. Also, it’s Louis. “I’ll ask, but honestly. He won’t mind. I- I mean you’ll have to sleep on the couch. Or I will.”

“No, I’d definitely sleep on the couch,” Louis says. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Well!” Nick claps his hands. “That’s settled then! I’m off! Gonna go meet The Boy and get drunk. Ta-ta!”

He stands and leaves. Mitch, Harry and Louis sit and watch him go. 

Oh god. Louis is going to be living with them. 

What has Harry done?


	16. December 16th

Tomorrow. Louis Tomlinson is moving into Harry’s flat _tomorrow,_ and he’s not moving out until Christmas afternoon. Harry Styles is going to have Louis Tomlinson in his place of residence for _eight days._

Harry is both on cloud nine and in hell. 

He spent the rest of Sunday cleaning the flat because _god_ Louis can’t know he lives like this! Sure it’s _tidy,_ but there’s dust _everywhere,_ and when was the last time he washed his sheets? Obviously way too long ago. What if Louis happens to be _in his room?_

Oh god. Louis might be _in his room._

Niall has been _entirely unhelpful_ and Harry hates him a little. He just keeps laughing! At all of Harry’s freak outs! This is not how supportive friends-slash-flatmates are supposed to act!

So there’s all of that circling in his brain, and on top of it all, today is the judging for the decorating contest.

The email sent out says that judging starts at one, so there’s five hours of work to get the records room looking like a proper tree farm before then, and Louis seems more than ready to rise to the challenge. 

He hurries into the room mere minutes after Harry’s arrived, carrying what looks to be a mess of tinsel and greenery. 

“I just took, like, most of the decorations from my flat to try to boost our chances,” he says, dumping everything on his desk. “I mean I’m not going to be living there on Christmas anyway, what’s the point?”

Mitch, as well, seems to have brought in three more very small trees, that are all standing in a line in front of his desk. 

“I’ve got wreaths, tinsel, this creepy Santa,” Louis holds up a doll where every feature on it is just a little crooked, “and a snowman, but he’s got a mysterious stain in the wrong place so he’s going to have to be tactfully arranged.”

The room, as it is, is already a mess of green construction paper trees sparse paper snowflakes. The more Harry looks at everything, the less cohesive it all looks. There’s sort of a “quantity over quality” theme going on. 

Harry, resigning himself to not getting any actual work done today, takes a stack of green and a stack of red paper. “How does Christmas coloured paper chains sound?” he asks. 

“Like a _genius move,”_ Louis says. “But also I need your tall-ness to stick these Christmas trees above the door frames.”

— 

Around eleven Nick appears. “How’s it looking in here, gang?” he asks, surveying the walls and their layers of green trees. Harry’s made two giant ones that he’s stuck to the wall behind where Louis and Mitch sit, and between them a large banner (made of a Christmas tablecloth) that he’s written _RECORDS ROOM TREE FARM_ on. 

“Not bad,” Nick says, nodding. “A decent enough job. What are we doing now? Are we making more trees?”

“Of course we are,” Louis says, holding up the one he’s currently cutting. “We are _also_ hoping for a _contribution_ from a _wealthy benefactor_ so we can go buy cookies.”

“I _literally_ bought you all Starbucks yesterday.”

“Yeah,” Louis scoffs. “But this isn’t for us! It’s to bribe the judges with! And anyway, any real tree farm would have Christmas cookies to help set the mood.”

“No tree farm I have ever been to has done that,” Nick says. “But you know what? Fine.” He slips his wallet out of his pocket. “I’ve got a tenner, go wild.”

“Wait, really?” Louis takes the money with reverence. “I didn’t think that would work!”

“Off with you,” Nick says, making a shoo-ing motion. “Before I change my mind!”

Louis grabs his coat and pockets the money. “On it!”

He sprints out of the room, leaving Nick, Mitch (who might actually be doing work?) and Harry, who’s been steadily working on stapling a paper chain together.

Harry looks up to see Nick sauntering over to his desk (boy he sure does like to saunter).

“So, Harry,” he says, leaning against the table that’s piled high with plans that Harry’s been neglecting. “What are your intentions with our dear boy Louis?”

Harry’s heart stops for a moment. “Uh,” he says. “Well he’s going to be sleeping on my couch…?”

“Oh, let’s cut to the chase,” Nick says. “Those cookies will distract him for ten minutes, fifteen if the line is long, since he’s only going to the store across the road and we know their supply isn’t great. Now,” he leans closer. Looms. “How long have you been working here?”

“Six weeks and three days,” Harry says. He knows exactly how long because after nineties days he can’t get fired as easily, and something in his anxious heart has him convinced he’s going to be fired for something ridiculous, like putting a confidential plan in the wrong mailbox.

“And how long have you been crushing on Louis?”

Harry’s heart stutters again. “I’m not acting out a scene from _Love Actually_ with you,” he says to try to cover up. 

Nick pouts. “Come ooooon,” he whines. “We all know it’s true. Mitch!” he looks over at Mitch. “Don’t we all know Harry has a crush on Louis?”

Mitch shrugs, but Harry feels betrayed. Mitch knew this whole time?

“All I’m saying is,” Nick says, turning back to him. “We put this beautiful little Christmas present on your doorstep, so don’t waste the opportunity.”

He straightens up, and then smiles brightly. “I have an idea,” he says, abruptly changing demeanor and the subject. “About ham.”

Then he walks out of the room.

Harry stares after him.

Then he looks at Mitch.

Mitch is staring at his phone again. 

Harry feels very exposed.

He starts to work on the paper chain again, mind racing as fast as his heart. Is he that obvious? Does Louis know?

— 

“The ham sign,” Nick says. “The one I talked about the other day.”

Louis is arranging the cookies he bought on a tray. “You were serious about that?”

“Yes!” Nick holds up a picture - of ham - that he’s apparently just printed out. “Here’s your visual key. People will look at it and say, oh I’d like some ham! Then they’ll read the sign. The one that says, _ask us about ham!_ That’ll be your queue. Louis! I’d like some ham, tell me how!”

Louis is taping up the paper chain that Harry’s been making. He’s made it much too long. “Nick says if you vote for us you are welcome to some of the ham that he is bringing in for the party, because the party planning committee refuses to have ham,” he says, sounding like a primary school student reciting a memorised answer.

“Try to sound a little more enthusiastic about it,” Nick says. “Harry! Now you try!”

“Uh—” Harry says. 

“No, don’t make him try,” Louis interrupts. “Harry doesn’t talk to strangers, you know that.”

“I do,” Nick sighs. “I had hoped for more from my records room children. Only one outgoing on in the bunch.” He secures another piece of tape to the picture of ham on the wall. “This’ll have to do. And remember, if we don’t get first place, Harry’s job is in danger.”

Harry is _pretty_ sure he’s kidding, but uh. He’s never quite positive. 

“Right, well,” Louis throws the paper chain over the top of the filing cabinet. “Off with you then! You’re not part of this trio.”

“I can see where I’m not wanted!” Nick sniffs. “Fine. Don’t forget about the ham!”

He leaves, and as soon as the door shuts behind him, Louis says, “We’re not actually going to talk about the ham.”

“No,” says Mitch.

“I’d rather not,” says Harry.”

“Good. I think bribery with cookies is enough.” Louis pops one in his mouth. “For as cheap as they are, they’re not bad. And if anyone asks, they’re homemade.”

They don’t _look_ homemade. 

Harry hopes no one asks. 

— 

The other people in the building wander through around one, each of them with a candy cane to put at the decorated space they like best. Louis has already assured Harry they won’t win this one. Nick makes too many people mad, yelling about turning in their plans wrong. 

The judges come in with clipboards and Santa hats, about twenty minutes later. They swarm the room, looking at all the decorations and making notes. Louis is playing tinny Christmas carols through the radio. The judges tut and whisper to one another. They say _thank you_ and take cookies.

Harry has never seen any of these people in his life. They must work on the upper floors.

When they leave, Louis lets a breath out. “Welp,” he says. “That’s that. Time to eat the rest of the cookies.”

Which they do.

Nobody asked about the ham.


	17. December 17th

There’s a weird smell in the records room.

It starts around noon, and Harry’s the first one to smell it. It’s a lot like old eggs, and at first he thinks that he’s just smelling someone crop dusting in the hallway, but it persists, until it’s clear everyone in the records room can smell it.

“Oh god,” Louis says, wrinkling his nose. “That’s rank. What is that?”

Mitch says nothing, but he’s looking around with the same frown on his face. 

“I don’t know,” Harry says. “I think it’s from the hallway?”

Louis gets up and walks toward the door cautiously, like a cat expecting to be pounced on. “It’s… maybe out here?” he says, sticking his head through the doorway. “But I don’t know…”

Mitch follows him, which of  _ course  _ means Harry has to follow the two of them. He’s not sitting in the smelly egg room alone. 

They follow in Louis’ footsteps over to the break room next to them. The smell is still there, but no worse than it was before, and nothing disgusting shows itself when Louis cracks open the refrigerator. 

“Nothing,” says Louis, closing it. 

“Maybe the sink?” Harry asks, looking over at Mitch standing next to it. Mitch shakes his head. 

Finding nothing more potent, they creep back to the records room. 

Nick’s entered the room and is standing there when they come in. “What’s happened?” he asks. “What’s that stink?”

“I don’t know,” Louis says. “But I don’t like it. Isn’t natural gas supposed to smell like eggs? Are we going to die?”

“Probably not,” Nick says. “But if someone in this building is going to die it shouldn’t be the records department. I think it’s time for us to take a field trip to the sandwich shop across the street.”

“Seconded,” Louis says, already pulling on his coat. “Maybe they’ll have to close the building while we’re gone and we’ll all get to go home.”

“Please,” Harry says, thinking of his bed. His warm bed. But also of Louis moving in after work. “That would be the best of circumstances.”

On their way out, Nick phones the building manager to to them about the smell, and gets told someone will “look into it”. Harry hopes they “look into it” before their lunch break is over.

Thankfully, the sandwich shop across the street smells refreshingly like sandwiches and not at all like eggs. 

Not thankfully, no one has evacuated the building by the time they get back.

Confusingly, the smell is completely gone.

— 

**Louis:** _ I’ll be there in ten minutes _ _   
_ **Louis:** _ Last minute to back out _ _   
_ **Louis:** _ It’s probably the smart thing to do _

Louis is  _ texting _ Harry like they’re  _ close friends _ and honestly Harry can barely handle it.

**Harry:** _ Not backing out, but you haven’t even seen my flat yet _ _   
_ **Harry:** _ Could be an on-fire garbage can _

**Louis:** _ A risk I’m willing to take _

Niall’s laughing at him. Harry’s been pacing the length of the living room and kitchen for the last half hour. The place is clean. He vacuumed the couch in the hopes that it would smell less like feet (maybe worked?) and lit candles (he’s bordering between Christmas cheer and seance). 

“Hey Harry,” Niall says from the couch as Harry walks by. “Hey- Hey Harry. Hey.” He’s got a glint in his eyes.

“What?” Harry whines, stopping to look at him.

Niall smirks. “What if Louis has an allergic reaction to strong fragrances?”

Harry stops.  _ “SHIT—” _ he shouts, running to blow out the candles. What if he  _ does- _ what if Harry makes him go to the  _ hospital- _

A knock sounds at the door.

Harry is right in front of the door. 

He should open the door. 

Heart pounding, Harry unbolts the lock and opens the door. 

There’s Louis, standing in all of his glory and his crinkley smiley eyes and his soft fluffy hair and his plaid jacket-coat-thing and a duffel bag over his shoulder and—

“Oh holy shit,” Louis says, stepping onto the premise. “It smells like heaven in here!”

Niall cackles and Harry glares daggers toward him. 

“Thanks,” he says, shutting the door behind him. “Um. Oh! Do you have more stuff to bring in? I can help-”

“Nah, this is all I got,” Louis says, motioning to the duffel. “I mean, considering my whole building is being treated for like. Advanced rat infestation or whatever, I didn’t really like touching any of the clothes on my floor. Which was most of them. I swear I’ll try to not make your living room look like my floor though.”

“No worries,” Harry says.

“Some worries!” Niall argues, standing from the couch. “I’m Niall, not that anyone asked,” he says, walking over and holding out his hand to Louis, who shakes it.

“You’re the one who got locked out of the flat a couple weeks ago,” Louis says, and Harry screws up his face trying not to laugh.

“Aye, you’re absolutely perfect for each other,” Niall says, which leads to Harry trying to not to be too obvious about smacking him on the arm. “Right, I’m off to work. Louis, you’re very welcome to our flat as long as you stay out of my room and my drawer in the refrigerator. Also, I will insist on receiving a Christmas present.”

“Sounds doable,” Louis says at the same time as Harry says, “He’s joking.”

“I’m not joking,” Niall says, fixing Harry with a look. “You’re not allowed in my refrigerator drawer either and  _ you know it.” _

“I’ve  _ never _ gone into your drawer,” Harry says, scandalized that Niall would even insinuate. “Refrigerator drawers are  _ sacred!” _

“Which is why we make good flatmates,” Niall says, and sidles out the door. “Don’t wait up!” he calls behind him.

“Niall won’t be back until at least six,” Harry says, feeling the need to explain. “He means it.”

“Ouch,” Louis agrees. “Definitely not with how long it takes me to wake up.”

They stand in awkward silence for a beat before Harry rushes to offer Louis the tour, and also to give him somewhere to put his things, and also a drink, if he’d like one. He stops just short of offering Louis his hand in marriage. 

Louis dumps his bag next to the couch and accepts the tour offer.

Harry’s heart is jackrabbiting in his chest. He can’t imagine how he’s going to sleep tonight. 


	18. December 18th

Louis slept on Harry’s couch last night. 

Louis slept on Harry’s couch last night, and when Harry got up and went into the kitchen to make breakfast, he could see the absolute  _ nest _ of blankets that Louis had made for himself on the couch, which he was clearly still buried somewhere underneath, and his heart did all sorts of painful squeezes. 

Last night  _ before _ Louis had slept on Harry’s couch, things had been… good. Excellent, really. Sure, Harry had been internally screaming the entire time, but the truth of it was, Louis had immediately made himself at home and the two of them had ended up on the couch binge watching the holiday season of Nailed It and talking about everything and nothing.

“My sister lives in an abandoned Hungarian church,” Louis had said at one point. He’d also said, “Did I ever tell you about the time I worked in the tampon factory and we committed fraud?” which was the start of a  _ very _ long story that Harry listened raptly to. Louis was just a great person to sit and admire what he was like, and hell if Harry wasn’t about to take every minute he could to do just that. 

This morning, because Harry hasn’t been able to find his spare key, they both had to leave the flat at the same time. Somehow, between home and work (a ten minute drive), Louis still managed to get to work fifteen minutes after Harry. 

— 

“I need a businessman haircut,” Nick says by way of greeting. 

“Do you now?” asks Louis, shuffling the ridiculously tall stack of papers on his desk.

“Aren’t you a businessman?” Harry asks. “Doesn’t that make your haircut a businessman haircut?”

“I work for the national government, so of course not,” Nick says. “Louis. Google businessman haircut so I know my options.”

“On it,” Louis says. “Have you given any more thought to that sensory corner we asked for?”

“Absolutely not, and I never will,” Nick says. 

There’s a sound that Harry has begun to hear, ever so faintly. It’s quiet enough that he thinks he’s imagined it, a just steady drip-dripping of water. Maybe he’s hearing the sink in the break room down the hall. Maybe someone’s left the tap running. 

“Oh  _ here’s _ a picture of George Clooney looking very mischievous,” Louis says, turning his monitor toward Nick. “Is this what you’re going for?”

“Hm,” ponders Nick. “Mayhaps.”

Harry can’t imagine Nick with a George Clooney sort of haircut but he keeps his mouth shut. 

The sound of running water is definitely not something Harry’s making up, he’s pretty sure of that at this point. It sounds  _ almost _ like it’s coming from right over his head, but of course he’s completely dry and when he glances up there doesn’t seem to be any sign of a leak forming above him. 

When he looks back at Louis and Nick, Louis’ looking at him funny. “Do you hear something?” he asks.

Harry nods. 

Neither of them move. The one who finally  _ does _ move is Mitch, who gets up and walks past both of them and to the door. He cranes his neck around the corner and then looks back at them. 

“It’s raining,” he says. “In the hallway.”

“Oh  _ shit,” _ Louis says, and that’s the last bit of calm before their office breaks into chaos. 

Harry and Louis get up and run for the door at the same time, with Nick leading in front of them. “Holy fuck,” Nick says as they turn the corner and see what’s happening. 

The hallway, with its door to the copier room on the left and the break room on the right, lined by mailboxes on folding tables, is growing wet  _ very _ fast. There are two tiles on the ceiling that are dark with water, streaming from all sides, onto the floor and onto the mailboxes below. As they watch the flow only grows heavier. 

“Holy shit,” Louis breathes. 

Nick stares up in horror, his mouth open. 

“Oh my god,” Harry says. “Oh my god. Oh my god. Ohhhhh my god.”

Mitch moves past them and runs through the waterfall to the other side, grabbing the recycling bin and dragging it under the spray. It helps… some. 

“Oh my god,” says Harry. He  _ never _ claimed to be good in a crisis. “Oh my god.”

Louis, next to him, keeps moving his arms like he’s  _ about _ to do something and then changing his mind. “Holy shit,” he says again. 

“Mailboxes!” Nick shouts as his brain apparently catches up with him. “We get everything out of the mailboxes!”

Everything being all of the plans that Harry had loaded into them at the end of yesterday. Feeling like a child at the water park, Harry squeaks as he runs near the water, grabbing already-soaking packets out of mailboxes and stacking them in his arms. He and Louis alternate until their arms are full, and run them into the copier room. 

“What the fuck is happening,” Louis says as they go back and grab more. “What the fuck. Where is the water coming from?”

“It’s coming from the second floor break room,” Nick says, suddenly appearing in the doorway with an entire set of the mailboxes themselves. “This happened a few years ago, when the sink backed up.”

“Oh my god, was this what that smell was?” asks Harry. “The eggs? Yesterday?”

Louis grabs the last of the mail from one side. “Probably,” he says. “Oh gross. This water is getting  _ all _ over me. I don’t want to think what’s in it.”

The copier room is quickly stacked high with papers from the mailboxes, as well as the mailboxes that were directly under the spray. As they go out for the last of them, Harry looks up and to his horror, sees the ceiling tile bowing dangerously, the water coming down heavier, right above where Louis’ now leaning down.

“Louis—” he squeaks, grabbing at his upper arm and pulling hard enough that they both go tumbling to the ground. 

The ceiling tile gives way just above where Louis was leaning, falling partially onto the recycling bin and partially onto the floor.

Louis, who has landed on Harry’s lap and is soaking wet, lets out a groan. “Does this mean we get to leave early?” he asks.

He doesn’t make any sudden movements to stand or move away from Harry, and if it weren’t for the fact that they are covered in what is possibly used sink water, Harry would find this quite sexy.

As it is, it’s damp.

And a little sexy.

“Nobody’s vomiting, nobody goes home,” Nick says, pulling a mailbox further away from the spray. 

Louis whines and leans forward, away from Harry (who is now damp and  _ cold). _ “No fair.”

“Where is Mitch?” Harry asks. The waterfall is now flowing almost directly into the recycling bin and while it’s almost as tall as he is, it’s beginning to get dangerously full.

“Dunno. Smoke break?”

“Mitch smokes?”

It’s just then that Mitch rounds the corner with a man in a maintenance outfit, stopping in his tracks and holding one arm out toward the mess, in a  _ see?? _ Motion.

“Ah,” says the man. “Yes, that’s a leak.”

He turns and walks back the way they had just come, not in any hurry.

“He was working on the second floor sink,” Mitch says, his expression looking like he could murder and enjoy it. “He didn’t believe me when I said there was a leak.”

It’s soon apparent that they’ve done all they could to get things out of the way, and there’s nothing for the four of them to do but stay and watch the water flow. Which it does. For a very long time. 

“If the building floods,  _ then _ can we go home?” Louis asks, sitting on the floor next to Harry as the water in the carpet creeps toward them, having overflowed the recycling bin. 

Nick and Mitch simply stand next to them. It seems like it would be wrong to go back to their desks, even if there’s nothing to be done. 

“Yes,” Nick says. “Although I’d like to remind you that you don’t have a home.”

“I  _ do,” _ argues Louis. “My home is Harry’s couch, and it’s very comfortable.”

Harry’s ears grow hot. 

The water doesn’t stop flowing for almost ten more minutes.

“That’s the maintenance guy for you,” Nick says. “Jeff’s the most useless son of a gun I’ve ever met.”


	19. December 19th

Louis Tomlinson sings Christmas songs in the shower. 

The shower is just on the other side of the wall from Harry’s bed, and he’s used to Niall playing music while he showers. He wasn’t prepared for Louis’ beautiful voice to be sounding through the wall just after his alarm goes off first thing in the morning. 

Sure, being a Real Actual Adult means that Harry tired all day every day, but waking up to the voice of an angel is a nice consolation prize.

Harry spends the next twenty minutes  _ not _ thinking about how this means Louis is  _ technically _ mere feet from him and completely naked. That would not be appropriate. 

When he hears the door open and Louis’ footsteps down the hall, Harry finally forces himself to get up. He took a shower yesterday when he got home from work, as the smell of copper had sunk into all of his clothes after the torrential downpour in the hallway yesterday. 

The whole rest of the day after the waterfall incident had turned into listening as person after person came into the building, rounded the corner, and said, “Oh no,” as they inevitably ran into the destruction caused by the burst pipe. The maintenance man had been in and out a few times, just long enough to patch the pipe and put in a new ceiling tile. When Harry had left at the end of the day, pretty much everything had still been rather soaking wet and beginning to smell a bit like wet dog, and the mailboxes were still stacked in the copier room. 

Today, as he comes into work (after saying goodbye to Louis, who had been standing in the kitchen shirtless eating cocopops by the spoonful straight out of the box, and Harry was very proud that he hadn’t died at the sight), Harry can tell that the wet dog smell has not decreased in any way. It seems to have increased. The carpet is still soggy. 

Nick storms into the records room, as he does most mornings, at ten after eight. “First of all,” he says. “Bebe brought in a pumpkin roll she made herself, and it’s delicious and she says everyone has to have it because she’s terribly pregnant and so she makes the rules.” He sits in the chair next to Louis’ (empty) desk. “Second of all, we’re all going to catch the black lung and die a horrible death because maintenance doesn’t seem to feel the need to actually clean up the mess they made.”

“They did patch the pipe,” Harry points out, trying to be diplomatic.

“The pipe that he broke in the first place, because he was treating the sink like it had a disposal and was pouring soup down it. What is this, L.A.?” Nick throws his head back and groans. “I pushed aside a ceiling tile when I came in,” he says. “Completely soaked. He didn’t even try to dry it before he put the new tile on. We’re all going to catch the black lung, and then we’ll never be able to work again and the NHS will have to give us benefits and we’ll become a roaming band of street performers.”

“I thought we already got benefits,” Harry says, frowning. “I thought that was part of the job.”

“Yeah, your benefit is you get Christmas day off,” says Nick. “Anyway, where’s Louis? Shouldn’t you be making sure he gets here on time?”

“I have no control over anyone,” Harry argues. “Do I look like the kind of person who can tell people what to do?”

“You do if it’s Louis,” Nick says, and before Harry can properly process that statement, Louis comes striding into the room.

“Smells like dog,” he says as he puts his things on his desk. “We shouldn’t have to work under these conditions. Should be considered a crime.”

“That’s what I was saying,” Nick says, jumping onto his train of thought. “Black lung for the lot of us! I’m going to find where all the box fans are hidden around here to get the hallway dried out, but when we all get infections over Christmas we can collectively stalk Jeff to a back alley and engage in some proper fisticuffs.” He stands. “Oh, and Bebe made pumpkin roll that you absolutely have to have.”

“She pregnancy baking again?” Louis asks.

“Yep, and it’s Christmas so she wants priority over whatever sweets you find in the break room.”

Harry saw two different kinds of homemade biscuits just fifteen minutes ago when he was in the break room, and his healthy(ish) avocado toast breakfast doesn’t quite compare to the idea of a pumpkin roll, but he holds out because in the rush of seeing Louis shirtless in his kitchen, Harry totally forgot his lunch. 

Working alongside Louis and then seeing him at home is sort of normal and sort of weird, because Harry’s now looking at him as he starts up his computer and thinking,  _ you snore just a little and I heard you fall off the couch last night, _ and he’s also thinking,  _ you insisted on us watching Love Actually yesterday when I mentioned it’s my favourite movie and now I wonder if you’re thinking about it too. _ Of course Louis’ not, because in this moment he’s probably thinking about how long until he can move back home (his landlord texted last night to say it “wasn’t looking good,” whatever that means), and how to work around moving out of Harry’s flat and crashing at his family’s house come Christmas. The holiday is looming large and intimidatingly close, and Harry resents the fact that being in an office all day, while it means he can afford to buy presents, has cut way down on his time to actually  _ shop  _ for them. 

Nick manages to locate a box fan, because mid-morning the sound of a fan in the hallway fills the room, giving a weird impression of summer and hot temperatures that really fights against the many,  _ many _ paper Christmas trees. 

Then, not ten minutes after that, the maintenance guy from yesterday comes through the door. “Did another leak happen?” he asks, looking at Harry as if Harry is some sort of authority here. 

“Uh,” says Harry. “No?”

“Oh,” says the man. The man who is apparently named Jeff. “Someone moved the ceiling tiles, so I was wondering.”

“Yeah,” Louis pipes up. “Because it’s still wet in the ceiling! That’s how you get mold!”

Maintenance-Man-Jeff looks to Louis. “Building inspection doesn’t like ceiling tiles being moved,” he says.

“We don’t like dying of the plague,” Louis argues back. 

Maintenance-Man-Jeff apparently doesn’t have a proper response to that, because he just mutters, “It’s not procedure,” and walks back out. Harry goes out to check ten minutes later, and apparently they were enough to dissuade him because he hasn’t moved the tile back into place.

“He’s a numpty,” Louis says when Harry walks back in. 

“Yeah,” agrees Harry. He sits and opens his email, because he’s awkwardly between tasks and doesn’t want to go to the copier quite yet. There’s one from Bebe to a group she’s apparently named  _ Records Room Children. _

_ Pumpkin roll on my desk, _ it reads.  _ Come eat some right now because it’s so good and I made it myself and I have a full ass child inside of me so someone needs to eat this pumpkin roll so help me god. _

“Ass child,” Louis mumbles from across the room, apparently also reading the email.

— 

At three, Zayn shows up. 

He’s got dolley piled high with boxes that he begins unloading in front of Louis’ desk. 

“These are from Liam,” he says. “He’s sick today.”

“Oh, poor Liam,” Louis says. “Lovesick?”

Zayn looks at him, an expression that Harry can’t seen. “Not as sick as he could be,” he says. 

Then he leaves. 

“I feel like that was a threat,” Louis remarks after he’s left. “I’ve been threatened. Or, Liam was threatened through me?”

“I mean I was certainly uncomfortable,” Harry says. 

Louis stands up and goes over to the boxes, lifting the lid of the one on top. “I gave him these last week,” he says. “Liam specifically asked for them.”

“He’ll be back for them tomorrow,” Harry hazards. 

“Yeah,” Louis says, sitting back down. “I just always worry that he knows something we don’t. Maybe he’s a master criminal or something.”

It’s then that Bebe walks (waddles) into the room. 

“I swear to the lord above,” she says, slapping a paper plate with pumpkin roll down on Harry’s desk. “You are three  _ delinquent  _ children! All I ask of you is that you eat what I make! But no!” she goes over and slaps a plate on Louis’ and then Mitch’s desk. “You’d rather  _ starve! _ This is  _ not _ my fault! You will  _ not _ go hungry on my watch!”

Then she storms (waddles) back out. 

"Disneyworld is _so close,"_ Mitch says quietly, staring at the plate of pumpkin roll on his desk. 


	20. December 20th

“Christmas lunch!” Louis sings-songs at Harry when Harry walks into the kitchen. “It’s the best day of the year!”

“The  _ best?” _ Harry asks, sidling past him to get to the coffee maker. Louis drinks coffee all day at work but Harry makes it at home. It’s wild how normal it already feels, working around Louis in the kitchen.

“Well not the  _ best _ day,” Louis admits. “Because Monday is records room Christmas and that’s much better, and Tuesday’s my birthday—”

“Tuesday’s your  _ birthday?” _ Harry yelps, nearly dropping the coffee pot. 

“Yeah!” Louis says. “Did I not mention that?”

_ “No,” _ Harry says. “You did  _ not! _ Oh god, and I haven’t even gotten you a present!”

Louis laughs, and his eyes get all squinty. He puts a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “It’s okay,” he says. “I’m sleeping on your couch. I don’t think you need to get me an additional present.”

Harry’s shoulder feels warm where Louis’ hand is on it, but he hasn’t moved it away so Harry tries to pour the coffee into the top of the coffee maker as slowly as possible, as if Louis’ a wild animal that could be scared off.

He does take his hand away eventually, to look at the time on his phone, but Harry feels like he’s been charged full of electricity and he might spark at any moment. 

It’s wonderful.

— 

When Harry gets to work, there is an honest-to-god  _ slow cooker _ on the table next to his desk. 

“I had to plug it in, and that’s the only place where I could reach an outlet,” Nick says by way of explanation. 

Harry glances into the slow cooker. “Ham,” he says slowly. “You really did bring in ham.”

He shouldn’t be surprised. There’s a sign on the wall. But still, hearing Nick go on about bringing ham and then actually appearing with it seem to have a disconnect in his mind. 

“I sure did!” Nick says proudly. “I went to the shops and said, ‘give me enough to fill this pot to the top, and make sure it’s  _ spiral cut. _ ’” He looks so proud of himself. “Put it in a nice brown sugar glaze, should be  _ perfect _ come Christmas party time. We’ll go next door, get our food, then come back here and stock up on  _ proper ham!” _

Harry can’t say he’s  _ ever _ cared about any meat this much in his life. 

Louis walks in a few minutes later, wearing a scarf that Harry is  _ pretty _ sure is  _ his. _

“Oh, it smells like ham in here,” he says.

— 

There is a terrible sort of time in one’s life, between the hours of eight in the morning when work begins, and one in the afternoon when the Christmas party lunch happens, when one sits at one’s desk and continually smells ham. It’s a terrible sort of time, because for those five hours the only thoughts that reoccur is not how delicious the ham will be, but that the smell of ham will definitely stay in one’s clothes for days.

— 

The Christmas party begins at one, still ten minutes away, and there is already a line that stretches past the records room, past the copier and break room, down to where the cubicles are.

“That’s it,” Mitch says. “I’m joining the line. I’m not going to miss out on the good desserts.”

Louis jumps up when Mitch does, so of course Harry joins them as well.  _ He’s _ certainly not going to be staying back. They leave the safety of the records room and follow the line all the way to the end, which is squarely in front of Nick’s office. 

Harry stands by the door as Louis peeks his head in. “Christmas party!” He says. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Nick says, standing. “Fuckers don’t know how to follow directions. The email clearly said not to get in line until one.”

“You’re just bitter because you’re at the end of the line,” Louis says, and he’s so smiley and bright. Harry smiles along with him, he can’t help it.

They stand in line and follow it as it shuffles around, almost immediately growing quite a ways behind them. Mitch is on his phone behind Harry, Nick is in front of him, and Louis is to his left, bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

“I should have worn a Christmas sweater,” he says. “Are we going to get a records room Christmas picture like we always do? We need one with Harry in it.”

There already is one with Harry in it, technically. It’s above their fake fireplace, tacked to the wall, with Harry’s form cut and taped into it above where that former employee had been removed.

“Well it’s tradition,” Nick says. Then, more loudly, he says, “It’s a good thing  _ we have ham in the records room, isn’t it? Not any of this sad pork loin.” _

“We’re not even in the room for food yet,” Louis says, elbowing him. “That’s not going to work. It just means more ham for us.”

“Oh, it’ll work,” Nick says. “People know quality when they see it.”

They shuffle through the line a bit more, passing the cubicles with their light-up decorations that are breaking the rules of the decorating contest, and Louis begins to break out in Christmas carols.

_ “Here we come a-caroling, among the leaves so green _ _   
_ _ “Here we come a-wandering, so fair to be seen” _

“Shush,” Nick says, bopping him on the head. “We’re in public, you’re embarrassing me.”

Louis stops singing, but he doesn’t stop grinning. “It’s Christmas,” he says. “That’s the caroling time!”

Harry, who truly does love a good Christmas song  _ so _ much, takes a chance that makes his pulse skyrocket.

_ “Love and joy come to you,” _ he sings, and immediately Louis joins in.

_ “And to you good Christmas too, _ _   
_ _ “And God bless you and send you a happy new year. _ _   
_ __ “And God send you a happy new year”

Nick puts his hand to his face. “I’m not with them,” he says, loudly enough for the people around them in line to laugh. 

Harry feels like he’s walking on clouds. 

Louis starts a rendition of Carol of the Bells, which Harry tries his best to keep up with.

“Wait,” says Mitch after the first few verses. “People actually know this song? Who actually learns these lyrics?”

“It was the best part of  _ The Santa Clause,” _ Harry says, breaking off mid verse. “Of course I learned the lyrics.”

“Yeah,” says Louis. “The best part!”

They finally make it to the front of the line, and into the room with all the food, which they pile high on paper plates. Harry hates to admit it, but looking at the tray of pork, it looks dry and tasteless… that ham he’s been smelling all morning really does seem more appealing. 

They thread their way through after getting food and go back to the records room, which feels very odd, as the four of them stand around the slow cooker of ham. 

“Don’t let anyone say I don’t take care of my records room children,” Nick says as he puts some on each of their plates.”

“No one would ever say that phrase,” Louis points out.

“Exactly,” Nick says.

Then they rejoin the rest of the group, going to the largest conference room in the building and snagging a table at the very back. It’s pack-full of people that Harry’s never met, or he’s seen and never been introduced to, although they all seem to know each other.

“Ah, the bane of being the records department,” Louis says. “We’re the outsiders here.”

“That’s okay,” Nick says. “As a supervisor, I know most of these people, and I can assure you, they’re not worth it.”

“Hey!” a familiar voice shouts, and Harry looks over to see Bebe sitting down at the table next to them. “There’s my favourite records room children. You think you have a good shot at winning the decorating contest?”

“We’d better,” Louis says. “We’re about the only people who didn’t break the rules. No wall plug in lights, how is that so hard to understand?”

The prizes are announced starting with people’s choice, which of course they don’t win, and people slowly come up to get their Christmas tree trophies (each one a little over a foot high, with a wooden sign denoting what they’ve won). 

People’s choice, and runner up. 

Single person, and runner up.

Duo, and runner up.

Then, finally, the one they were going for - trio. 

It’s given to the group down the hall, with the plug-in lights decorating their cubicles.

Harry feels crushed and affronted. They cheated!

After that, it’s announced that there is a  _ tie _ for trio runner up. Harry looks at Louis, and Louis looks back at Harry, as it’s announced they’ve tied with the only other trio participating. 

Which is, pardon Harry’s language, complete bullshit.

Louis goes up to receive their trophy, and when he comes back, the look on his face says almost as much as the tree they’ve given him. 

It’s about five inches tall, clearly something someone had to go out and buy at the last minute. To placate their group for the fact they didn’t win.

“I will riot,” Louis says, his voice murderous. 

It’s a pathetic little thing, and usually Harry  _ loves _ pathetic little Charlie Brown trees, but this one is just terrible.

Mitch looks at it, picks it up, and drops it on the floor under their table. 


	21. December 21st

Niall isn’t going home to Mullingar for Christmas this year. 

Or at least, he’s not going home until the beginning of the new year. While the aquarium is technically closed on Christmas, he wasn’t able to take off enough days around it to make a trip all the way to Ireland worth it. 

He loves his family, and of course he’s counting down the days until he can visit, but at the same time he’s pretty happy that this is how it turned out. In part, because the aquarium is decked out in Christmas lights and decorations that make it even  _ more _ of a magical place than usual to wander through at night as the hours pass. In another, more  _ important _ part, though, he’s glad he stayed because watching Harry’s slow break down as the love of his life unexpectedly moved in with them has been  _ beyond _ incredible. 

Now that Niall has lived with Louis Tomlinson for half a week, he can sort of see the appeal.

_ Not _ that Niall would ever catch the feelings for Louis. For starters, Harry’s clearly got that on permanent lockdown. They’re going to get married and adopt a million kids, Niall’s certain of that. Also, Niall’s perfectly happy dating himself. He’s found out that he enjoys it, especially the dates he takes himself on. To the aquarium, of course, because he gets in free. 

Today, as he walks in at seven in the morning, Louis is asleep on the couch, his head mere inches below the overhang of Christmas tree needles from where they overlap. He’s adjusted to the Christmas tree quite well, Niall thinks, considering he’s found fewer dropped needles from Louis smacking his face into the branches when he sits up. 

Louis snores, and he drools a little, but much less than Harry does. Niall only knows this, of course, because Louis is  _ always _ asleep on the couch when he comes home, and Niall has a picture perfect view of him as he stands in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and slurps down a bowl of weetabix before crashing in his room.

(The one downside to Louis sleeping on their couch is that Niall isn’t able to binge Christmas movies on the television when he gets home from work and waits for Harry to wake up).

He doesn’t feel like Weetabix today, though. Today, he feels like gingerbread, because Christmas is  _ practically  _ here!

So, like any caring roommate would, Niall grabs the tin of gingerbread that he bought on his way home and head to Harry’s room. 

The door always squeaks when he opens it, even when Niall tries to be as slow and careful as possible. Today he doesn’t care much, swinging it open and striding in, only to pop off his shoes and climb into bed with Harry, who’s only visible by the feet sticking out the end of his blankets.

“Harry,” Niall whisper-shouts. “Harry, wake up! I’ve brought gingerbread.”

Harry moans and tries to shuffle away from Niall, but Niall’s trapped him between himself and the wall. Just as planned. “Come on, Harry! You’ve only got two more days of work before Christmas break anyway, you can wake up early with me today for once!”

_ “I cant,” _ Harry grouses from beneath his blankets. 

“What if I told you I could get you the perfect Christmas present for Louis?” Niall tries, taking a bite of gingerbread. 

“Are you  _ eating _ in my  _ bed?” _ Harry yelps, finally sticking his head above his covers. 

“It’s gingerbread, it doesn’t leave crumbs,” Niall says, mouth full.

“That’s a fucking  _ lie,” _ Harry says, clearly fully awake now and trying to push Niall off of his bed. Rude.

“You just don’t love me enough,” Niall pouts. “Here, you can have some!” He has to brace himself against Harry’s headboard to keep from getting pushed to the floor. 

Harry, eventually, gives up. “You’re doing my laundry,” he says. “I’m not sleeping with gingerbread sheets.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Niall says. “Now, more importantly. You have a boy to woo.”

Harry shushes him, looking toward his open doorway frantically. Oh yeah, Niall forgot to close that. 

“I’m just saying,” Niall continues, lowering his voice. “Perfect present idea! Want to hear it?”

Harry puts a hand to his face but nods. He seems very tired.

“I was thinking - I can get you free tickets to the aquarium!”

“No,” says Harry flatly. 

“What?” asks Niall. “Ridiculous! It’s the perfect present!”

“For  _ you,” _ Harry argues. “He’s not a fish person! He’s a fox person! He’s got fox mugs and things on his desk.”

Niall shrugs. “I mean, it’s the perfect gift for anyone, but go off.”

He’s distracted enough saying this that Harry manages the final shove that sends him sprawling to the floor.

While he’s trying to right himself and make sure his gingerbread is still in one piece, a knock sounds at the open door and he looks up to see Louis standing there, mug in hand. 

“Hi,” he says. “Am I interrupting…?”

Niall looks up at Harry, sitting up in bed, whose face is  _ entirely _ red. “No,” Harry yelps. “Not at all! What’s up?”

Louis looks between the two of them. “I just wanted to know why someone’s spelled out  _ fuck _ with the Christmas lights on your balcony.”

“Thank you for noticing,” Niall says, standing. He’s pretty sure Harry’s now worried that the two of them look like they’re in a relationship, so as he makes his way toward the door, he hastens to reassure Louis. 

_ “I’m single,” _ he whispers into Louis’ ear while he passes. 

After all, Harry would kill him if he mentioned that  _ Harry  _ was single.

This clears it up too, right?

Judging by Louis’ expression, it only causes confusion. But he’ll figure it out. 


	22. December 22nd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one for the day! Don't worry. There'll be much more tomorrow.

Yesterday Louis left midmorning to buy Christmas presents, because he’s apparently the type of person to leave his present buying until the last minute.

Harry loves him for that.

He loves him for the way Louis laughed after Niall  _ basically came on to him what the fuck Niall. _ He loves him for the soft face he made when they got to the weepy part in  _ Miracle on 34th Street.  _ The fact of the matter is, Louis sleeping on Harry’s couch is about the  _ worst possible thing _ to happen to Harry. Because he loves this boy in unreasonable amounts considering he’s told himself that he  _ absolutely should not _ date him. 

Because dating coworkers never goes well, right?

But god, Harry’s fallen head over heels. 

Today, by some miracle, Niall let Harry sleep this morning, so he woke up naturally at almost one in the afternoon. It was heavenly, even though Harry’s pretty sure the headache he wakes up with is because it’s been so long since the last time he had coffee. 

Getting out of bed and throwing on his Christmas pyjamas (because real clothes are unnecessary, but not walking into the living room in only his pants is a good idea), 

He can hear Christmas music before he even opens the door, the excited notes of  _ All I Want for Christmas _ flowing through the flat. Expecting Niall, Harry’s surprised when he rounds the corner to find Louis standing in their kitchen, a mixing bowl in hand and… what looks like should be  _ in _ the bowl instead splashed across every surface. Flour, sugar, dough and… icing? dots the countertops, the sink, and the fronts of the cabinets. A disaster happened in here.

“Oh!” shouts Louis in surprise when he turns around and sees Harry standing there. Harry stands in shock, seeing as Louis is wearing _his_ _Keep Calm and Bake On_ apron. His lucky red one that he uses for only his finest masterpieces.

(Mostly just birthday cakes honestly).

“I’m so sorry,” Louis says, putting a hand to his heart in shock. “You scared me! I thought you were gone already, since I hadn’t seen you all morning!”

Harry waves awkwardly. “Think I slept thirteen hours,” he says. 

“Sounds amazing,” Louis says. “Good for you!”

“Thanks…” Harry takes a look around the mess. “So you uh… have bad luck with your Christmas baking?”

Louis grimaces. “I was thinking I could bake you some cookies to say thanks for letting me stay here,” he says, tilting the bowl toward him so Harry could see its contents. “I swear I’m not usually this bad, but I was trying to soften the butter by putting it on top of the heating grate and then it melted too much and I was trying to clean it up before it dripped into your heating duct? But I tripped while I still had the bowl in my hand and it… this happened.” He sort of shrugs toward the mess around him. “I was going to clean it up before you got back, I promise!”

He does look very sorry. But also like he’s still trying to bake cookies that Harry isn’t sure will be edible the way his ingredients seem to be going. There  _ surely _ can’t be the right ratio in there.

“Would… Would you be willing to let me help you?” Harry asks. “I’m pretty decent at baking.”

“I dunno,” Louis frowns. “Does that count? If you bake your own thank you cookies?”

“I think it counts,” Harry says. “As long as I’m not the one cleaning the kitchen afterward.”

Louis smiles and those little crinkles by his eyes appear. “Deal,” he says.

So Harry helps him bake thank you cookies.

That’s fine, isn’t it? Dancing just a little in the kitchen when the good Christmas music comes on, as Harry teaches Louis how to whisk without spilling batter everywhere? Nothing bad can come from this.

After all, Harry’s already fallen so hard. 


	23. December 23rd

“It is  _ time,”  _ Nick says, flinging open the records room door at twelve thirty. “It is  _ time _ for records room Christmas party!”

It’s two days until Christmas and really, Harry doesn’t think any of them have been getting that much work done. 

“I’m ready,” Louis says, already throwing on his coat. Mitch, looking more ready than any of them, has already started walking toward the door. 

“Who’s driving?” Nick asks. “Do we need Bebe to be our DD? I’d drive us, but I’m planning on getting my money’s worth of the drinks.”

“I can guarantee I’ll be able to drive us back,” Harry says. “I drink too slowly to get drunk.”

“That’s very true,” Louis says, backing him up. “I’ve watched him last a cup of starbucks over the course of two days, it’s  _ disgusting.” _

Harry makes a pouting face at him, but Louis doesn’t budge. “It really is,” he says. “Coffee should be drunk within ten minutes. Microwaving is  _ not _ an option.”

“You  _ microwave your coffee?” _ Nick asks, looking horrified.

“I usually get iced drinks,” Harry points out. 

“Which is just as bad.” Louis says. “Okay, how about I drive us there, and if needed Harry can drive back.”

“Deal,” Nick says. “Now let’s  _ go, _ I need me some German buffet right now immediately.”

When they pile into Louis’ car, Harry’s honestly quite impressed by how clean it is. His stuff is in constant disarray in the living room, but his car is relatively spotless. 

“Now remember,” Nick instructs as Louis drives, turning around in his seat to look at Mitch and Harry sitting in the back. “Louis learned the hard way a few years ago that the buffet is to be partaken in  _ first, _ before the drinking. We don’t need another another  _ incident.” _

“The incident was  _ negligible at best,” _ Louis tries to argue. “And anyway, he was a  _ temp, _ how was I supposed to know he was about to get hired over at intake?”

“Which is why we’re glad Hot Luke ended up married to Bebe now, aren’t we? No worries of old flames coming alight in the workplace.”

“It was  _ not _ a flame sort of kiss,” Louis snaps. “It was a  _ I had too much to drink and was sad about not having a boyfriend  _ kiss. Completely irrelevant to today’s meal.”

“Whatever you say,” Nick says. “No kissing at Hofbrauhaus though.”

_ “Obviously,” _ Louis mutters.

Harry feels like he’s just swallowed a popsocket with the amount of information that was just firehosed at him. Mitch, next to him, looks bored. Mitch probably heard this argument last year, come to think of it. 

By the time they arrive at Hofbrauhaus, any animosity between Louis and Nick seems to have cooled, and Louis veritably  _ skips _ to the door to open it for them. 

“Merry Christmas and happy birthday to  _ me,” _ he says, holding it wide for each of them. “Spaetzle here I  _ come!” _

A waitress seats them at a long table with benches on each side that have to be pulled back with a fair amount of work. Harry pulls his side back, but Louis just climbs over his end to sit. 

“Everyone’s doing buffet, right?” Nick asks the group. The waitress jots that down, along with the requested litre of specialty Christmas beer for Nick, Mitch and Louis.

Harry orders a half litre, because he loves the taste of beer but he’s a sips sort of guy and there’s no way he’ll finish it.

Their first trip to the buffet has Harry loading up on potato salad, pickled cabbage and cheese sausage. Louis does all that plus spaetzle and two rolls, for which Nick chides him because, “Filling up on rolls is an  _ amateur _ mistake.”

Mitch piles his plate high with almost entirely sausage. It’s a little sickening to look at. 

The first bite that Harry takes of the potato salad, vinegar-y with crumbled bacon, makes him realise that he made a mistake getting anything else. This potato salad has come from heaven. 

“Right?” Louis agrees, just by watching the expression on Harry’s face. “Literal heaven.”

“A toast!” Nick decrees, lifting up his beer stein, that the waitress dropped off while they were at the buffet. “To another year of idiotic coworkers who screw up everything we try to do!”

“May they be struck with diarrhea every time they forge a signature,” Louis adds as the four of them clink their beverages together. 

“May they be struck by lightning,” Mitch mutters under his breath. 

Harry ends up going back to the buffet two more times, just for the potato salad. It’s scarily additive, plus… he’s a bit of a lightweight. Even just sipping the Christmas beer he can feel himself getting dangerously giggly. Which is why after he’s drunk about a third of it he stops himself from going any further. 

“Harry,” Nick says eventually, when everyone else’s drinks have been downed. “You have to finish that.”

“I don’t think I can,” says Harry truthfully. A third of a beer is actually pretty impressive for him.

“But value for money!” Nick objects. “You have to!”

“He doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to,” Louis says, touseling Harry’s hair. There’s a bit of pink on Louis’ cheeks that Harry chalks up to his own finished drink. “Stop being mean to the records room baby.”

… After a minute of deciding, Harry thinks he’s very okay with Louis calling him that.

“Harry is the baby and therefore is a growing boy that needs to finish his drink,” Nick spouts back. 

“Well how about this,” Louis says, grabbing the stein from in front of Harry and taking a long drink from it.

Nick thinks for a minute and shrugs. “Fine,” he says. “As long as Harry’s okay with you blatantly stealing from him, then it’s fine by me.”

Louis looks to Harry for permission, and Harry nods, screwing up his face to keep from giggling.

They sit for fifteen more minutes, watching the television on the wall scroll through football news as Louis nurses Harry’s pint.

“Louis is the smallest person here,” Mitch points out as Louis finishes off Harry’s beer. “Was this really the best decision?”

“It  _ sure is,” _ Louis says, banging the empty stein down on the table. “Because I would do anything for my favourite records room sibling so I will gladly drink his Christmas beer if that’s what he needs!”

The sibling connotation isn’t the best but honestly Harry will take it. “I think I’m driving us back,” he says, as Louis’ cheeks are definitely looking rosy at this point. “For safety’s sake.”

Louis nods. “A good decision,” he says. “My keys are in my pocket.”

“Oh my god,” Nick says, putting his head in his hands.

“Can you… get them for me?” Harry asks.

“Nope,” Louis says. “They’re in this pocket.” He demonstrates by wiggling his hips.

“Oh my  _ god,” _ Nick says. 

Louis smiles widely.

“We could just _ walk  _ back to the office,” Mitch suggests.

“That’s going to be a two hour walk, no thank you,” Nick says, standing up. “Alright, come on, Louis.”

Louis stands too, and then stumbles trying to get off of the bench the same way he got on. “I’m fine though,” he says, then pauses. “I mean. Not fine to drive. Just, y’know,  _ fine.” _

Nick, standing behind him as Louis rights himself, takes the opportunity to snack the keys out of his pocket and toss them to Harry, who almost misses catching them.”

“Rude,” Louis says. 

— 

When they arrive back at the records room, it’s still an hour and a half until the end of the work day, and Louis disappears in the time it takes Harry to get back to his desk. Harry figures out where he went almost thirty minutes later, when it turns out he was taking a nap beneath his desk, and a tousled head of hair appears at desktop-level.

“Best way to sober up,” Louis says, blinking groggily as he gets back into his seat.

Harry snorts, hiding his smile.

“It’s true!” Louis protests. “Mitch did it with me last year.”

“Last year Nick bought everyone three drinks,” Mitch says. “He’s learned.”

“He’ll have forgotten by next year,” Louis says. 

Not much work gets done in that last hour. Harry ate enough potato salad that he’s pleasantly sleepy and Louis seems to be perfectly content to talk at length about anything and everything, because  _ “Nobody should expect us to get anything done this week.” _

That night when they arrive back to Harry’s flat, Louis demands to watch  _ It’s a Wonderful Life _ and although they’re never  _ quite _ cuddling, their hands brush frequently and in the dark Harry starts to feel like maybe that’s not an accident.


	24. December 24th

Harry’s going to leave for his mum’s on Christmas day in the early afternoon, mostly because it’s too long of a drive to make after getting off of work and he didn’t feel confident enough to ask for Christmas Eve off. He’s not actually sure if he  _ has _ holiday pay he can use, because the website he logs into that records his hours is very confusing and he’s just sort of given up trying to figure it out.

That’s okay, though, because it means that this Christmas Eve he gets to spend the day with Louis, on Louis’ birthday. Sure, it’s sort of sad that Louis’ going to be at work on his birthday, but so far he seems to be taking it in stride.

“I don’t  _ want _ to go into work,” Louis moans. He’s sitting on the floor in the kitchen with his back up against the dishwasher. 

“I mean I suppose you don’t  _ have _ to,” Harry says. “You could call in sick?”

“I can’t,” Louis says. The bowl of cocopops is in his lap. “Nick says that if I call in sick one more day this year that I’ll have to make up the hours on the weekend because I’ve used up all my sick time from after-concert hangovers.”

“Isn’t this the last day of the year you’re working?”

“Yea, which is why I have to make it through today and I’ll be able to start fresh in January.” Louis lifts the bowl of cereal to his lips and pours some into his mouth, which is a little horrifying to watch. “Ha’y ‘irthday ‘oo me,” he says, unintelligibly. 

“Oh that reminds me!” Harry says. (It doesn’t actually remind him - he’s been waiting for this chance since he woke up an hour ago). I got you a present, do you want it now?”

Louis swallows in one audible gulp. “You  _ know _ I do!”

Harry goes into the living room and grabs the presents for Louis, Nick and Mitch. Louis’ he wrapped with birthday wrapping paper but followed up with ribbon and three sparkly Christmas bows, just to make sure he felt properly celebrated. 

It took a very long time and he’s actually not that confident in his present choice, but hopefully Louis will… well, if not  _ like _ it hopefully he’ll see Harry’s intent. Whatever that intent is. 

“Yesss, gimme!” Louis says, holding up his hands in a grabby motion. 

“It’s nothing huge,” Harry clarifies, handing the box over.

“That’s okay! I’m a slut for presents!” Louis carefully takes every bow off and sticks them to the dishwasher before tearing into the wrapping paper. “You got me… a box!” he says, pulling out the cardboard box. 

“Sure did,” Harry agrees. “There might even be something inside of it.”

Harry couldn’t find the perfect present. Maybe the perfect present didn’t even exist, or maybe it did and he just wasn’t able to locate it in time. Either way, he holds his breath as Louis opens the box.

“Oh Harry,” Louis says, a huge smile spreading on his face. “This is ridiculous and I love it.”

He pulls out the cereal bowl, ceramic and blue-ish white with foxes running across it. Harry had paid extra at the shopping centre kiosk to get them to add his Louis’ name on it in a loopy font above the foxes. It looks like a cereal bowl for a primary school student, a little cartoony with bright colours.

“I thought it might sort of match…  _ all _ of your coffee mugs at work,” Harry says, shrugging sheepishly. “I know it’s not much, but—”

“It’s  _ incredible _ and I  _ love _ it and I’m keeping it forever,” Louis says, taking his bowl of cocopops and pouring them directly into the new fox bowl.

“Wait—” Harry tries to say, but it’s much too late. “I haven’t washed the bowl,” he says. “I’m not sure you should… eat that, now.”

Louis laughs. “I’m sure I’ve had worse,” he says. “Oh my god Harry, it’s got my  _ name _ on it!”

He looks so genuinely happy that Harry breathes an internal sigh of relief. Next year— next year he’ll have the perfect present. But this year Louis seems happy enough. 

— 

When Harry gets to the records room about twenty minutes later (and about ten minutes after eight… it’s Christmas Eve, after all), he finds that the door is still closed and locked, which is pretty unusual. It means that he’s beaten both Mitch and Nick here. 

He sits at his desk for quite a long time just hoping to get the will to work, but  _ god _ it’s  _ Christmas Eve! _ He wants to be at home drinking spiked eggnog and watching Love Actually for the sixth time. 

Eventually he gets the energy to turn on his computer, and finds in his work email, a message from Nick to the records department - 

_ My dearest records room children. _

_ Merry Christmas and a happy holidays. We won’t be able to exchange Christmas presents today, as unfortunately I have been called away. Bebe’s in labor and her hot husband’s car broke down, so I’ve become their taxi service. Writing this from the hospital as I hear screaming from Bebe’s room. This Christmas I am thankful that I do not have the ability to carry a baby inside of me. _

_ Happy birthday Louis, this doesn’t mean you get to leave early. _

_ Best Regards,  _

_ Nick _

Louis walks in just as Harry’s finished reading the email. “Bebe’s in labor,” he says.

“Really?” asks Louis, his eyes lighting up. “Wait, no! Her baby’s going to share my birthday! That’s not okay!”

“I mean, I’d say maybe labor will take sixteen hours, but I don’t really want to be the reason she’s cursed like that, so,” Harry knocks on his desk.

“That’s fair actually. I guess there had to be another one of me someday, I’m sure they’ll carry the throne after I’m gone.” Louis puts the messenger bag he was carrying down on the table. “I was going to give everyone their presents as soon as I got in, but… is Mitch not here?”

Harry shrugs. “I guess not? It’s been very lonely here.”

“Aww, good thing I’m here then,” Louis says, and he  _ winks _ at Harry.  _ Winks! _

Harry watches as Louis pulls a large bag with a bow on it out of his messenger bag. It’s clear and is filled with… some sort of food?

“Well I guess this’ll be a nice surprise for when he comes back,” Louis says, and walks over to Mitch’s desk. 

“What is it?” Harry asks incredulously.

“It’s something Nick doesn’t need to know about,” Louis says. He frowns and picks up a piece of paper on Mitch’s desk. “Oh my god,” he says. “He left a  _ note.” _

“What?” Harry stands up and hurries over to Mitch’s desk. Louis hands him the note - a short, typed piece.

_ I’m at Disney by the time you read this. _

_ Merry Christmas. _

_ \-- Mitch _

“Oh my god,” breathes Harry. 

“I’ve known Mitch for two years and every day I remember that I really know nothing about him,” Louis says. 

Harry takes the opportunity to look at the bag that Louis set on the table. “Is this… Is this full of corn kernels?” he asks.

“It  _ is!” _ Louis grins. Rather maniacally. “I thought Mitch could have his own little sensory corner, since he liked the idea so much. And Nick doesn’t need to know if we just… hide it in one of his drawers.”

“You’re going to fill one of his desk drawers with dried corn kernels?”

“Yes,” Louis says. “I’m a genius and it’s my birthday, I can do whatever I want.” He pulls open the top drawer of Mitch’s desk. It’s full of pens and peppermints.

“Interesting,” Louis says. He pulls open the second drawer - it’s full of inter-office envelopes. Closing it, he pulls open the bottom drawer and Harry and Louis both gasp in unison. 

The bottom drawer of Mitch’s desk is filled with Disney bobbleheads. 

“Holy fuck,” says Louis.

“Holy shit,” says Harry.

There’s every Monsters University character with wide eyes and exaggerated features. There’s the mice from Cinderella. Harry can see near the bottom what he thinks is all seven dwarves.

“I think Mitch might be a serial killer,” says Louis.

“I think he might just  _ really _ like Disney,” says Harry. 

“Well,” says Louis, and he closes the drawer. “We will never speak of this again.”

“Nope,” agrees Harry.

Louis pulls open the top drawer and dumps the contents of the bag of corn kernels on top of the pens. “A nice surprise,” he says. 

They both immediately stick their hands in the drawer. Louis’ hand lands on top of Harry’s and Harry is assaulted both by the fun texture of corn - like a miniature ball pit for your hand - and by the feeling of Louis’ palm, warm and a bit rough, on his. 

“Mitch might hate you,” Harry says. He moves his fingers in the corn. It’s stress relieving. Louis’ hand is still on his.

“He’ll learn to love me,” Louis says. 

— 

The day passes slowly. Like molasses. Harry doesn’t want to do work and he  _ does _ want to listen to Louis all day, which is great because he is Louis’ sole audience member, but at the same time his phone says it’s snowing and the lack of windows in the records room is making him antsy to see how true it is. 

“I stopped biting my nails,” Louis is saying. “Which is great, because I’m much more confident now that I’ll be able to get the DNA of my murderer under my nails when he kills me.”

_ “When?” _ Harry asks. 

“Yeah. But the problem is that it’s so much harder to  _ type _ with long nails! There’s clickety sound that happens and it gets under my skin so fast.”

“You can cut them, you know.”

“I don’t own a single pair of nail cutters. I did used to cut the edge with scissors and then just rip them across—”

_ “Stop talking,” _ Harry shouts, covering his ears. “No, no, no—” 

“It’s fine though!” Louis insists. “Maybe I’ll get like one of those rocks that my sisters keep in the shower and like. Shave them down.”

“You  _ cannot _ shave your nails with a pumice stone,” Harry says. “Okay, actually? I keep a pair of clippers in my desk. Merry Christmas part two, I’m gifting these to you.”

He throws them to Louis and Louis ducks, grabbing them after they’ve bounced off his desk. It’s dawning on Harry how comfortable he is with Louis now. 

“You could really hurt someone with these,” Louis says. “But I like the fact that the handle is pink. Very nice touch.”

“Thank you,” Harry beams. “My sister got them for me. But she got me some in gold too and I like them better.”

“You know what?” Louis says, because he hasn’t stopped talking since he made coffee. “It’s my birthday and Nick is gone. I declare today unofficial Youtube Friday.”

“Youtube Friday?”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “We used to do them a lot but Nick made us do a long hiatus after we got carried away and watched all of Halloween last year.” He stands up and starts dragging his chair behind him. “But Nick isn’t here and I declare no work getting done on my birthday. Scoot over and open up youtube, let’s watch some terrible internet television.”

Harry moves his chair all the way to the side and Louis wheels his own next to him. It’s not really enough space for two desk chairs, but Louis’s lowered his arm rests so that they can fit together like puzzle pieces. 

“I’m thinking Flula first,” Louis says. “But if there’s any full length Hallmark movies you can think of, I’m open to suggestions.” He leans over Harry to get to the keyboard, and as he does his left ankle hooks around Harry’s right. 

Harry stops breathing.

He doesn’t move his foot away.

“Right, Flula it is! You lost your chance!” Louis declares. 

Youtube Friday-on-Tuesday begins, and Harry finds himself watching whatever youtube video Louis puts on, and only half paying attention, as Louis never moves his foot away. It’s distracting. It’s lovely.

It’s the most obvious thing Louis could do, right?

That’s not something records room siblings do… right?

Youtube Friday lasts for two hours, and Harry if pressed could tell you what he watched.

— 

They’re allowed to leave work an hour early, and by that time Harry has accomplished… nothing.

Nothing at all. 

But Louis’ been talking nonstop and Harry’s had the best day of his life.

They leave together, and when Harry opens the door to the building, he’s met with the most beautiful sight. 

It’s apparently been snowing for a decently long time, because there’s a blanket of white on everything that lends a soft glow to the world. Harry smiles wide enough his face hurts. Now  _ this _ is Christmas.

“I’ll see you at home,” Louis says, parting ways to go towards his own car. “But I have to stop somewhere for a present that I forgot to pick up for my sisters, so don’t think I got in an accident when I don’t get there right away.”

“Deal,” Harry says. He gets in his car and runs the windshield wipers to clear the snow because he’s a baby and doesn’t want to have to put on gloves, then drives home in a winter wonderland.

**Louis:** _ By the way, I left you a present… it’s on your bed _

Harry gets the text just as he arrives home, and his curiosity gets the best of him, so he ends up in his room before he even gets his coat off. 

It looks like a letter that’s been (poorly) wrapped in Christmas paper. Harry picks it up and carefully tears the paper off, to see that he was right, there’s an envelope inside. 

Opening the envelope, there’s a Christmas card with a crow standing on a pine tree bough, and Louis’ written in sharpie letters,  **DENNIS** and an arrow pointing to the bird.

Harry opens the card.

_ Hi Harry, _

_ I hope I timed this well. I’m a coward about some things, you know. _

_ I just thought you should know, since it’s Christmas, that I like you very much. And in this envelope are tickets for two to the Nutcracker on Saturday. You can take a friend if you want, but I was hoping you’d want to take me? _

_ If I’ve read the signs wrong, then just don’t go in the living room tonight and I’ll take the hint and be gone by morning, promise! _

_ (it’s my birthday though) _

_ Louis _

Harry runs to the living room, although of course Louis isn’t back yet. Oh god, he thinks. Louis  _ likes _ him. He’s going to marry Louis and they’ll have six children together in a big house in the countryside now. It’s going to happen. 

Oh god. 

_ Louis likes him. _

Harry paces for what feels like hours, until he finally  _ finally  _ sees Louis coming up the steps. 

Harry throws the door open and runs to him, only to skid in the snow and fall into Louis, sending them both sprawling into the railing.

“Oh my god,” Louis croaks. “Is this good? Or is this you attacking me? I can’t tell.”

“Yes,” Harry says, and then he takes initiative for the first time in this relationship, and kisses Louis square on the lips.

He almost misses. It’s messy. 

“I think I’ve injured myself in that fall, but this is totally worth it,” Louis says, and kisses him back. 

At some point Niall comes outside. They’re still kissing in the snow. 


	25. December 25th

It was probably presumptuous of Louis to subtly hint to Harry that he would very much like to keep kissing Harry… while laying down… in Harry’s bed…

Harry, though, indulged him fully. Which is how, on Christmas morning, Louis wakes up not on a couch with a face full of pine bough, but instead in a warm bed, under a Lord of the Rings blanket, with a faceful of curls that smell delightfully like  _ boy _ .

He knows that, if he were to find his phone wherever it fell last night, he would find a slew of texts from Nick asking if it finally happened, if he finally confessed his feelings to Harry, but those texts have appeared on his phone every day since he temporarily moved in.

Nick definitely  _ didn’t _ hire Harry based on the fact that the day Louis walked into that interview with Harry his knees went wobbly and he stumbled over everything he said for the next hour. Nick hired Harry because he was competent and weirdly excited about indexing. That being said, the day Harry started work, Louis had run into Nick’s office and spent a good twenty minutes moaning about how he couldn’t spend the next twenty years of his life at his desk facing someone who looked like a literal cherub because he couldn’t  _ handle _ how beautiful Harry was, so. Nick’s been unfortunately privy to his feelings for almost two months now. 

He’s been a right menace about it. Louis  _ definitely _ could have stayed with Nic while his flat was being worked on.

Because he’s finally allowed, Louis reaches up and runs a hand through Harry’s curls. They’re just as soft as they have always looked, wavy in some areas and ringlets in others.

Harry makes a soft noise in his throat and turns over, cracking his eyes open mere inches from Louis’.

“Hey,” Louis says. “When do you have to be with your family?”

“I don’t leave until the afternoon,” Harry says, and his morning voice is like gravel. “What time s’it?”

“No clue,” Louis says. “Don’t know where my phone is.”

Harry reaches over to the side table and grabs his own. “Christ,” he says. “Seven in the morning. Why are you awake?”

Wow, Louis never wakes up before ten on a normal day. “Christmas magic,” he says. “Wanted to spend as much time with my boy as I could before we go our separate ways. That is, if you haven’t changed your mind since last night…?”

Harry hums. “Absolutely not,” he says. “As  _ if _ I could possibly let you go now.” He shimmies closer, throws an arm over Louis and while Louis is terribly self-conscious about his morning breath, Harry’s lips are warm and soft and oh, so good on his own. It’s worth it. 

“Happy birthday to me,” Louis says when they part. “And happy Christmas to you.”

“Happy Christmas to you too,” Harry says, and  _ god _ Louis must be the luckiest guy in the world.

They have a few hours to spend together today, and Louis plans on taking full advantage. Some kissing time, some sharing deep feelings time, and maybe even some more kissing over breakfast. Time will tell. 

— 

It is ten in the morning and Niall Horan lays in bed and rolls his eyes. He can hear the lovebirds in the kitchen and they’re definitely making a mess. He’s happy for them, but  _ god _ it’s about to get so gross around here. 

Niall continues to be happily single. He needs him a guy who can  _ handle. _

— 

It is eleven in the morning and Nick sits on the couch wrapped in blankets with two stinky dogs in his lap. He’s been posing for family portraits for almost twenty minutes now, but Stinky Blob apparently wants no part of it.

Mesh sets the timer on the camera for the hundredth time and dives for the couch. The picture comes out blurry but it’s one of the better ones so far.

— 

It is noon and Liam is just sitting down for lunch. Zayn is coming over in an hour, and the ring is hidden in a box nestled in the Christmas tree in the living room. This is the fourth ring that Liam has bought to try to propose to Zayn. Maybe this time it won’t get swallowed by one of his dogs before Zayn has a chance to open it. 

— 

It is one in the afternoon, and Zayn is on his way over to Liam’s. There’s a ring in his pocket. There’s a number of condoms in his other pocket. They’ve been banned from a number of restaurants in the area for their excessive PDA, but Zayn knows how mad horny Liam gets when he talks about their longterm life plans. 

Unfortunately, if Liam proposes first then Zayn owes Louis fifty quid, so he’s gotta be fast. 

— 

It is two in the afternoon and Bebe has a child in her arms. The child is small and pink and perfect, and Luke fainted in the delivery room twice. She thinks he’s a beautiful idiot, and their child is a beautiful wonder. 

— 

It is eight in the evening in Disney World (time differences and all that), and Mitch is in the Magic Kingdom After Dark. He’s about to ride Space Mountain for the third time. Finally, he is happy.

**Author's Note:**

> [I have a post](https://londonfoginacup.tumblr.com/post/189399930259/give-a-little-sing-to-the-singles) if you would like to reblog it! Comments and kudos spur me on if you have any to offer!! 
> 
> Happy Christmas, here's to many more!


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